


Worth His Weight in Bronze

by sparrow30



Series: Precious Metals [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, BDSM, Blowjobs, Bondage, Discussion of kinks, Dom/sub, Edging, Hickeys, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Not always SSC, Punishment, Safewords, Self-destructive Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-10-23 17:45:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10724160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrow30/pseuds/sparrow30
Summary: Yuri and his body haven’t exactly been on speaking terms since his growth spurt hit last year without warning. Luckily Otabek cares about Yuri more than Yuri cares about himself nowadays, and is able to step in before things get (too) out of hand.orThe one where Otabek has the patience of a saint, Yakov is mad at everyone (but especially Otabek), and Yuri wouldn’t know SSC if it smacked him across the face and asked for his safeword.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is it, my first foray into the wonderful world of Otayuri! I'm so nervous!
> 
> If you've read anything else of mine and are currently rolling your eyes going _'Here sparrow goes again, another wip that will take 2 years to complete'_ I HAVE GOOD NEWS FOR YOU! I've already finished writing this! 
> 
> I'm still going to be posting chapter by chapter, because that's half the fun of fanfic and it'll give me a chance to polish as I go, but I'm going to be holding myself to a strict schedule of weekly updates, and you all have full permission to come and shout at me if I don't stick to it!
> 
> Huge huge _huge_ thank you's have to go to lilinas, wingsofwriting, pepperroxd and sockwizard for being the most amazing cheerleaders and proof-readers a girl could hope for, and a double thank you to Lil for catching my 202 - yes i counted - rogue commas! You guys are seriously the best!
> 
> Ok I think that's it, I hope you guys enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing!

It all begins at the post-event banquet following the 2017 Grand Prix final. The irony of that isn't lost on Yuri for even a moment. 

It's been a year of his body changing. Not a lot, he's still small by most people's standards, just under 5ft 7 and all lean lines and flexible grace. Most people probably wouldn't even notice the subtle differences between 2016 Yuri and 2017 Yuri. But Yuri does. He notices it every time he steps onto the ice, because something is always different. It's like he goes to sleep and wakes up a completely different person every single night. His chest broadens, his arms and legs thicken. All of a sudden he has more power on takeoff, he flies through the air like never before. But it comes at a cost. His center of balance is completely off, and every time he thinks he's getting it under control something goes and changes again. Jumps that used to be as easy as breathing suddenly require more thought, more concentration. When he hits the ice he hits it hard, and it feels like he's all limbs, with no end in sight.    
  
He takes bronze at the final. He finishes behind Nikiforov. Behind  _ Katsuki  _ of all people. Yakov tells him he's done well, that this year of change is the hardest for any young skater. He tells Yuri that he's made Russia proud. Yuri just feels like a failure.    
  
As a result, for the first and only time in Yuri’s life, he follows Yuuri Katsuki’s lead and spends the entirety of the post-event banquet getting absolutely shit-faced. 

He's only a few months shy of seventeen, and this is how most teenagers his age spend their weekends, he reasons. Plus the event is being hosted in Oberstdorf and the drinking age for wine in Germany is sixteen.  _ Plus  _ one of the event officiators handed him the first glass so it's not like they really care. The reasons get more tenuous and less important the more he drinks. Other Yuuri only tries to approach him once, a look of concern plastered all over his stupid innocent face. Yuri sends him back to Victor with his tail between his legs in a matter of minutes. He doesn't even remember what he says, but he does remember Yuuri’s crestfallen look as he walks away. He knows he should probably feel bad. He doesn't.   
  
It's after the fourth (or maybe fifth, but Yuri’s stopped counting at this point) glass of champagne that he notices Otabek across the other side of the room. The two of them have formed a strange sort of friendship since the last Grand Prix, composed mainly of text messaging insults and Skype conversations that last well into the early hours of the morning, where Yuri feels more open and honest than at any other point. Yuri knows that something  _ more _ has been brewing between the two of them for a while now, that his heart catches whenever he sees his friend’s name flash up on his phone. But they've been living and training thousands of miles apart, and this is the first time that Yuri has seen the other boy since the qualifiers in Rome.    
  
Yuri wants Otabek, he's not in denial about it. He knows he wants Otabek just like he knows he wanted to win gold today. He couldn't have the gold, but this? This he can have.    
  
Yuri stalks across the room, his vision laser focused on the boy in front of him. Otabek’s gaze is slowly roving around the room, the very picture of polite neutrality. Yuri knows him better than that by now though. He knows that his expression means he's uncomfortable, just like he knows by the rigidity of his shoulders and the tightness of his grip on his glass of champagne that he's not as sober as he could be. It seems he's learned a lot about Otabek in the past year.    
  
He doesn't bother to say anything when he reaches the other man, just grabs him by his skinny black tie and proceeds to tow him out of the nearest exit. He feels a second's hesitation from the other end of the connection before Otabek lurches after him.    
  
Yuri drags Otabek to the elevator with the sort of fierce determination he usually reserves for on the ice. He ignores the questioning sounds coming from behind him until they reach the metallic doors of the elevator. He jabs at the call button then spins towards Otabek.    
  
They’re practically the same height now, Yuri no longer has to look up to meet Otabek’s gaze. Their eyes meet for an instant before Yuri is crowding forward, their lips connecting forcefully as Yuri loses his balance at the last minute.    
  
There's a moment’s pause that feels like an eternity, and then Otabek’s hands are coming up to Yuri’s forearms to support him, and he's kissing back just as intently. Yuri makes a little noise of happiness as he lets his mouth open, his tongue slipping out to taste his best friend’s lips. Otabek groans softly in response and pulls Yuri closer, pressing their bodies together as he deepens the kiss, hot and hurried and messy.    
  
The ding of the elevator cuts through Yuri’s senses like a knife and he breaks away violently. His breathing is heavy and erratic, and he can feel a wetness around his mouth that should be disgusting but somehow isn't. He backs into the elevator, watching in satisfaction as Otabek blinks at him slowly, seemingly too stunned to move. He cocks his hip in a way that has gotten him called a tease more than once on the ice, and raises an eyebrow at the other boy.    
  
"Are you coming?"   
  
He doesn't think he's ever seen Otabek move so fast.    
  
In previous years Yuri has roomed with Victor at events, but ever since Victor and Katsuki became an item he's been lucky enough to get a room to himself, a fact he's infinitely grateful for in this moment. It takes him a few tries to get his card key in the lock, but eventually it buzzes open and Yuri lets out a little victory cry before grabbing Otabek’s hand and dragging him into the room.    
  
The door has barely shut behind them before they've crashed together again. Yuri’s hands are eager and greedy, running along Otabek’s arms, gripping at his shoulder-blades and tracing down his back to skim over the tight curve of his ass. He lets out a little huff of pleasure when they reach that point, fingertips digging into the firm flesh and dragging Otabek impossibly closer. 

  
Otabek stiffens and then breaks away, as if Yuri’s actions have brought him to his senses. He takes a step back, making Yuri whine in displeasure. Yuri takes a step forward to close the gap between them and Otabek takes another step back in response, this time holding a hand out in front of him. Yuri huffs but stays where he is. Reluctantly.    
  
"Hang on, just a second Yuri," Otabek groans, and Yuri is almost too caught up in the way his name sounds on Otabek’s breathless lips to realize what he's saying.    
  
"Are we...Are we really doing this?" Otabek sounds so lost, so hopeful that Yuri can't help the small roll of his eyes.    
  
"You don't want to?" he challenges.    
  
"Of course I... That's not what I meant and you know it." Otabek sounds almost pleading. It would be endearing if it wasn't directly stopping Yuri from getting what he wants   
  
"I want it. You want it. What exactly is the problem here?" Yuri can hear the sarcastic bite in his voice, but he's never toned down his personality for Otabek before, he sure as shit isn't going to start now.   
  
"We've both been drinking. We shouldn't." Otabek’s words are firm but his tone is wavering. Yuri can see the moment his shaky resolve starts to crumble. He takes a slow, pointed step forwards, knocking Otabek’s hand out of the way and pressing in until their chests are all but touching. He quirks his eyebrow in challenge. 

"So. Are you going to fuck me or not?"    
  
He can't tell if it's a huff of laughter or of arousal that slips through Otabek’s lips, but the next moment he's flat on his back on the small twin bed that takes up most of the room, so either way he considers it a victory.    
  
Yuri knows firsthand that competitive skating doesn't exactly leave a lot of room for relationships, but he's not completely innocent to what makes his body tick. He's spent enough time - usually during the long lonely nights on the road - exploring his own company to have a reasonable idea of what he likes and what he doesn't. He knows that he likes to get off fast, and usually just a little bit rough. He's taken the time, and the lube, to explore the slow press of his fingers into his body, and he’s pretty sure he likes that too. So once their clothes have come off, and it’s just them and the press of skin on top of the sheets, Yuri very pointedly rolls over onto his stomach, arching his back and wiggling his ass in clear invitation.    
  
He hears a sharp exhale of breath, and looks over his shoulder in satisfaction as Otabek stares down at the long expanse of Yuri’s skin with something akin to wonder. He runs his hands slowly along Yuri’s back, as if committing the map of flesh to memory. The rough pads of his fingers scrape across a large bruise on Yuri’s side, courtesy of his messed-up triple axel during his short program. Yuri hisses out a breath and arches into the touch. He wants to feel the sharp sting of pain. It feels like he deserves it.    
  
"Look at you," Otabek murmurs from above him, and Yuri feels the wandering hands slip down to tease at the cleft of his ass. Yuri isn’t quite sure what Otabek is looking at that has him sounding so enamored, but he whines in agreement anyway and wiggles his hips some more, encouraging Otabek to pick up the pace. When the cold gel hits his skin he knows Otabek must have found the bottle of lube on the bedside table next to him - he had needed some stress relief last night before the free program today - but he can't bring himself to feel self-conscious.    
  
The first press of Otabek’s finger feels strange, foreign. He's slightly bigger than Yuri, and he moves at a different angle. Yuri takes a deep breath of air, willing his body to adjust to the intrusion. Otabek works slowly, patiently, and Yuri starts to feel his body relaxing under his careful touch. 

In the end though, it doesn't matter how cautious, how thorough Otabek is. When he finally snaps a condom on, lines up and presses in, Yuri feels like all the air is forced out of him in response. Otabek is huge, so much bigger than Yuri’s fingers. Yuri feels the seemingly endless press of Otabek’s cock filling him up and he struggles to breathe through it. Then Otabek is drawing back out and Yuri’s entire world narrows down to the slow drag of skin-on-skin. Yuri feels so full, so uncomfortable and he can’t help thinking that next time he'd rather be the one doing the fucking. And then Otabek starts to press in again and Yuri has to clamp down on the whimper that almost escapes him. It's too much, just like the Grand Prix was too much. He couldn't handle that and he can't handle this. The story of his life, Yuri Plisetsky bites off more than he can chew.    
  
Then the angle changes, and Yuri feels Otabek brush up against something inside him and  _ oh _ . Yes. That feels much better. He gasps in pleasure and pushes back against Otabek, hunting out that sensation again. He hears Otabek groan and feels him snap his hips, harder than before so Yuri is shunted a couple of inches along the bed, and he feels it again. That sweet spot just inside him that has stars erupting behind his eyes. He lets out an unashamed moan, and starts rocking backwards, encouraging Otabek to go harder, faster, more, again.    
  
He can feel his own cock rubbing against the harsh fabric of the hotel sheets underneath him, the waves of pleasure growing higher and higher and threatening to break as Otabek fucks him down into the mattress. His orgasm takes him completely unawares, so unlike the poor imitations he's experienced on his own. It's hard and fast and overwhelming and Yuri’s hands scrabble for purchase as he rides it out. The sheets turn wet and sticky underneath him and for a beautiful, breathtaking moment Yuri completely forgets how much of a failure he is.    
  


* * *

  
The next day, when he wakes up still covered in his own release, Otabek curled around him and holding on for dear life so as not to fall out of the single bed, he realizes he can't remember if Otabek came with him. He feels sort of guilty that he doesn't really care.    
  
He slowly pries himself out of Otabek’s embrace, his footsteps light as he pads to the bathroom to clean himself up. He takes a washcloth and starts to remove the dried mess on his stomach, wincing in disgust as his movements tug on his newly-grown chest hair. Once he's cleaned up he takes a moment to take in his appearance in the mirror. His hair is sticking up at all angles, and he can see thin red lines scattered across his shoulders. He twists to look over his shoulder, and confirms his suspicions that the lines snake all the way down his back. He can still feel Otabek’s presence between his legs, so he imagines his ass isn't in much better shape. In short, he looks well and truly fucked.   
  
He grins at himself in the mirror. Yakov is going to burst a vein in his forehead yelling when he joins him later. It's going to be hilarious.    
  
Otabek is awake and sitting up against the headboard by the time Yuri returns to the bedroom. His eyes are sleepy and confused as he takes in his surroundings, and Yuri is suddenly hit by a wash of nerves. He hovers in the doorway to the bathroom, all too aware of his own nakedness. He wraps his arms around himself as if that will somehow preserve his modesty after everything they did last night, and hates how his voice quavers as he says "Hi."   
  
Otabek turns towards Yuri, and a soft smile crosses his face. "Hi yourself," he replies, and his voice is so soft, so tender that something inside of Yuri balks. All of a sudden he would rather relive his messed up short program a thousand times over than cross the room to join Otabek back in bed.    
  
"It's um... It's getting late. I need to pack and meet Yakov downstairs soon." It's a barefaced lie, he still has a good six hours before they're scheduled to return to Russia. He watches as if in slow motion as understanding flits across Otabek’s features, tenderness being replaced with hurt for half a heartbeat before switching back to jarringly neutral. Yuri almost wishes he could take it back, but something deep and dark right in the pit of his stomach won't let him.   
  
"You're right. So I should get going, I guess?" Another chance to correct him, another chance resolutely ignored by Yuri’s gut.   
  
They get dressed in silence. Yuri into his team Russia travel gear, Otabek into his suit from the night before. It's strained and awkward and Yuri doesn't know how to fix it. He doesn't know if he wants to.   
  
Yuri walks Otabek to the door in some strange facade of hospitality. Otabek’s hand is on the doorknob before Yuri finally decides enough is enough.    
  
"Until next time then?"   
  
Otabek lifts his gaze from where it's resolutely fixed on the wood paneling. His expression turns soft again, a smile just creeping at the edge of his lips. "Yeah. Until next time."    
  
He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Yuri’s cheek, disappearing out the door before the younger man has a chance to react. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Surprise,” Otabek says, the smallest hint of a smile touching the edge of his lips.
> 
> Yuri stares at him for a good ten seconds, then spins around and skates over to the other side of the rink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Yuri...Sorry Otabek!

Things start to settle into a routine between Yuri and Otabek after that, inasmuch as any sort of routine can be established when life schedules are literally decided by names drawn out of a hat by the ISU. The remainder of the 2017 season has events scheduled thick and fast though, so Yuri and Otabek get to see each other almost every month. On the last night of each event Yuri will invariably turn up at Otabek’s door some point after midnight, and leave some time before 9am. There’s usually not a whole lot of sleep happening in between. It’s only ever on the last night though, and this new facet of their friendship is never mentioned out loud.

 

It’s not a _relationship_ , Yuri reasons to himself as he slips out the door the morning after the end of the European Championships, shoes held in his hand so as not to wake Otabek still sleeping in the bed behind him. Sure, they’re inseparable during the days beforehand, but they’re inseparable in the way best friends are, best friends who live in different countries. They’re not disgusting like Victor and Katsudon, who either can’t or won’t keep their hands off each other any time they’re in public. They’re just friends, who happen to enjoy a bit of light stress relief together after a challenging event. That’s all.

 

Which is just as well, Yuri thinks as he clicks his seatbelt closed, the cabin crew going through their pre-flight checks and Yakov already snoring in the seat next to him, the tingle between his legs a welcome reminder of his and Otabek’s activities the night before. Because if it were a _relationship_ then he’d have to end it - relationships are a distraction and nobody hoping to land a quad axel it in competition would take on something so time consuming as a relationship - and he really quite enjoys Otabek’s company.

 

He spends his seventeenth birthday at home alone. His grandpa is at work and he’s too exhausted from practice to even contemplate being around people as high maintenance as Victor and Katsudon. He Skypes Otabek to lament at how boring his life is, and jokes that maybe he should go out and find somebody to change that.

 

He chooses not to notice when Otabek’s expression shutters in response.

 

All in all though, 2018 gets off to a truly excellent start. Yuri thinks that if this keeps up then this might be his year after all.

 

Which means, of course, that everything comes crashing down around him in May. Just six short weeks before the 2018 season officially starts. Timing can be a real bitch sometimes.

 

The huge, catastrophic, life-changing upset to Yuri’s life walks into his rink one Monday morning, and announces that the rink in Kazakhstan is too small, too crowded for his protege, and that they’ll be training here in St Petersburg for the 2018 season. Yuri can only look on in stunned silence as Yakov and a short man, who he recognizes as Otabek’s coach but has never actually met, greet each other like old friends, and then all of a sudden Otabek - _Otabek_ \- is stepping onto the ice and skating over to him.

 

He slides to a graceful stop in front of Yuri, one hand coming up to run through his hair in a way that Yuri would have found incredibly distracting had his brain not short-circuited over the idea that _Otabek is here. In St Petersburg. Standing in front of him. On his ice. At his rink. Oh god._

 

“Surprise,” Otabek says, the smallest hint of a smile touching the edge of his lips.

 

Yuri stares at him for a good ten seconds, then spins around and skates over to the other side of the rink.

 

* * *

 

Their lives settle into a new routine after that, one that’s far less fun than their previous arrangement. Yuri spends his days resolutely ignoring Otabek on the ice, and then his evenings resolutely ignoring him off of it. He’s awash with emotion at the sudden life change, and it manifests in the same way it always does when he doesn’t know how to process his feelings.

 

Anger.

 

How dare Otabek, how _dare_ he move here and upset his life like this? Yuri has a carefully crafted system in place, one that involves having exactly one friend, who is conveniently long-distance and can therefore fit around his skating. Doesn’t Otabek realize how distracting, how _inconvenient_ this will be for Yuri?

 

A small, rational part of him knows that he’s being entirely selfish, that this move is great for Otabek’s career. Logically he knows that practicing in St Petersburg with the rest of the Russian Olympians will help Otabek’s skating no end, and that really there’s no reason for Otabek to think he needed to ask permission from Yuri to come here, what with them being _friends_ and all. The voice in his head also reminds him that _technically_ Otabek doesn’t owe Yuri anything, anyway.

 

He squashes that voice down in favor of righteous indignation.

 

He misses his friend, misses their night-time Skype calls and inane text conversations. But a fundamental part of their relationship has completely changed, and addressing that change means also addressing other elements of their friendship, elements that Yuri knows he isn’t ready to face just yet.

 

When they’re in the same city they fuck, that’s just how it works. Yuri is terrified of what that means for them now that they live in the same apartment complex.

 

It all comes to a head just under a month after Otabek arrives. It’s been a month of hell for Yuri, and he reaches the rink that morning tired and overwhelmingly cranky. His theme for this year is ‘Conflict’, and he’s cramming as many jumps into his short program as he can. He’s finally started to be able to harness his newfound strength and is determined to utilize it as best he can. He earned it after all, after the nightmare that was the 2017 season. His short program starts with a single toe loop, followed in quick succession by a double, then a triple, then two quads back to back. It’s a huge burst of activity to start his piece off, and Yuri loves it. Loves feeling his movements build and build along with the music, until he is as powerful and as unstoppable as a forest fire. Nobody can touch him as he burns his way across the ice, destroying anything in his wake.

 

He starts off his practice session by skating a few lazy loops around the rink, his gaze anywhere except the bench just off to the right where Otabek is sitting to tie up his laces. He does a couple of small exercises, then skates to the center of the rink when Yakov calls him. His coach wants to run through the set just once from start to finish, then they’ll focus on his problem areas for the rest of the practice. Yuri nods - his second quad has been giving him grief for days, it will be good to spend some time on that - and skates to take up his starting pose.

 

The music starts to swell and he pushes off, his black blades arcing gracefully as he picks up speed for his first jump. He hears the beat and takes off, his mind already on the double toe loop coming up next.

 

His toe pick catches and he hits the ice. Hard. His brain recognizes the sharp stab of pain radiating from his elbow before anything else. He sits up and cradles his arm, looking around in confusion. How did he get down here?

 

Yakov skates over to him, already yelling. “What the hell was that?” he shouts, coming to a noisy stop just in front of Yuri and crouching down to look at elbow.

 

“I...I don’t know.” He honestly doesn’t. The last time he failed to land a single toe loop he must have been twelve. He stretches his arm out gingerly. His elbow is still tingling, but it doesn’t look like any permanent damage has been done. Yakov gives a huff and stands up, holding out a hand for Yuri to pull himself up with.

 

“Again.”

 

Yuri loops round and takes up his starting position again, feeling horribly like all eyes are trained on him. _Did you hear? Yuri Plisetsky can’t even do a simple toe loop._

 

The music starts again, Yuri pushes off and waits for the signal from the music. He pushes off...

 

This time he manages to get his arms out in front of him as he comes down, landing on his forearms rather than elbow or wrists. It softens the blow on the ice, but not to his ego. He lets out a yell of frustration, and smacks the ice with his palm, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

 

“Again.” He hears Yakov call from a few feet away. He scowls and pushes himself to his feet. This time, he’ll get it. And then he can get on with the rest of the actually challenging parts of his routine.

 

He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get it that time, or the time after, or the next fifteen times after that. Somehow, for some stupid reason he can’t even begin to comprehend, today Yuri can’t seem to land a jump that he’s been nailing for five years.

 

An hour and a half later Yakov admits defeat. He tells Yuri to go home and sort his shit out, and that they’ll try again tomorrow. Yuri tries to argue, he’ll get it next time, he’s _sure_ of it. Yakov simply crosses his arms and taps his toe pick against the ice. There’s no reasoning with the man when he gets like this, so Yuri is forced to haul his sorry ass off the rink, resolutely not making eye contact with any of the other skaters currently practicing.

 

He changes out of his skating gear in a haze of disappointment and self-loathing, and the feeling follows him all the way to his apartment where he flops face down on his bed and idly considers smothering himself with the pillow underneath him. Yuri lies unmoving for what feels like hours, running through the disastrous session in minute and painful detail. A toe loop. A simple fucking toe loop. What the hell happened?

 

He wishes he could say he’s surprised when he finds himself outside Otabek’s door just past midnight. He’s not.

 

He knocks on the door without really thinking about, three short raps like he’s done so many times in the past. A long minute goes by and Yuri starts to think that maybe Otabek’s already gone to bed. He scowls and is just turning away from the door when he hears it click open. He spins back eagerly, something warm blooming in his chest when he sees Otabek in front of him, wearing a tshirt and boxers, his hair mussed and his eyes sleepy.

 

“Yuri?” Otabek asks, the lilt of his speech making it clear that Yuri has indeed woken him up. Yuri doesn’t say anything, just surges toward the other boy, his hands coming up to cup Otabek’s face as he kisses him with an intensity that even he wasn’t expecting.

 

Otabek gasps softly, and his arms come out to encircle Yuri’s waist, drawing him closer as he returns the kiss. Yuri growls and nips at Otabek’s lower lip, stepping them both forward as he uses his heel to shut the door behind them.

 

The noise of the door slamming shut seems to surprise Otabek and he breaks away, much to Yuri’s disapproval. He smiles softly at Yuri.

 

“I missed…” he starts, but Yuri hasn’t come here to talk, doesn’t want to know what Otabek might or might not be confessing to. He crashes their lips together again, his actions possessive and hurried. He wants to feel something, _anything_ , that isn’t the crushing self-doubt that’s been plaguing him since he stepped off the ice.

 

Otabek’s apartment isn’t huge, and within minutes they’ve made it across the small living room and into the bedroom on the opposite side, shedding clothes as they go. By the time Yuri scrambles up onto the double bed, dragging Otabek down on top of him and smashing their lips together once more, they’re both completely naked.

 

They kiss for a few more minutes, Yuri’s hands exploring Otabek’s back just as his tongue explores his mouth. It’s not enough though, not nearly enough, and with a huff he slaps a hand against Otabek’s chest, pushing the other boy away so that there’s about a foot of space between them. He twists to the side and starts rummaging through the bedside table, hoping desperately that Otabek is the sort of sensible person who keeps important supplies within easy reach.

 

“Yuri, what are you…?” Otabek says, sounding confused. Yuri whips back to face him, even as his hand continues to fumble its way through the drawer.

 

“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks, the unspoken _idiot_ hanging ugly in the air. Otabek’s brow furrows slightly but before he can respond Yuri finds the items he’s been looking for, and draws out the square foil packet and bottle of lube with a victorious “Aha!”.

 

He shoves both against Otabek’s chest and then flips over onto his front. He hears a small chuckle behind him. “Keen are we?” Otabek says as he uncaps the bottle of lube, and Yuri doesn’t even try to suppress the scowl that crosses his features at the gently teasing tone. It’s not like Otabek can see it anyway.

 

Otabek’s cold index finger presses in slowly, in the same cautious way as always, and Yuri wants to scream in frustration. How on earth is he supposed to feel anything if Otabek insists on treating him like fine china? He rocks back against the digit, forcing his body to accept the intrusion. “Come on, come on,” he mutters as he pumps his ass against Otabek’s hand, allowing himself three thrusts before wiggling his hips in clear suggestion.

 

“Another,” he commands, and lets out a small gasp when Otabek obliges, the second finger a much tighter fit than usual. He forces himself to breathe through the stretch, and continues to rock back on Otabek’s hand, working himself open millimeter by tiny millimeter.

 

“Ok, that’s enough, I’m ready,” he declares not more than thirty seconds later, dragging himself off Otabek’s fingers with a soft squelch. He reaches above his head and grabs a pillow, shoving it underneath his hips so that he’s at the right angle.

 

“Are you sure?” Otabek’s voice is hesitant, uncertain. “We haven’t been going for very long, I don’t think you’re…” Yuri pushes himself up onto his elbows and knees and twists to glare at the other boy in a way that has him stopping mid-sentence.

 

“Either fuck me right now, or get out.” Yuri practically hisses, no shred of warmth in his voice at all.

 

They both choose to ignore the fact that they’re currently in Otabek’s apartment.

 

Otabek gives a small huff, and for a second Yuri thinks he might back out completely, but then he reaches over to grab the condom and Yuri twists back in satisfaction. He feels Otabek line up with his entrance and start to press in.

 

Yuri has to bite down on his lower lip to stifle a whimper as Otabek breaches his hole. He’s not ready, not even close, and it feels like he’s being split in two. He can feel every inch of Otabek’s sizeable girth spreading him wider and wider as he slowly pushes forwards, so slow he’s practically not moving.

 

“Ah, Yuri. You’re still so tight,” he hears Otabek say again, his voice strained. “At least let me add some more lube.” He feels Otabek’s weight shift to the side to where he knows the bottle of lubricant is sitting and growls. It’s just like Otabek to think he needs to look after poor, delicate Yuri. The Russian fairy who can’t even land a toe loop like the rest of the big boys.

 

One hand whips out to grab Otabek’s arm reaching for the lube, and the other pushes off the bed to force himself down onto the cock behind him, jamming roughly backwards until his ass connects with Otabek’s hips. He can’t contain the yelp of pain that rips from his throat this time, but luckily it’s covered up by the moan that escapes from Otabek at the sudden rush of sensation.

 

He can feel fire shooting up his spine, hot white sparks radiating from his ass along every nerve ending. He feels like his insides have friction burn and he’s so full he thinks he might split right down the seam. It’s heavy and uncomfortable and nothing at all like their usual times together, and Yuri wants more.

 

He rocks forwards, tears springing to his eyes as Otabek’s cock reluctantly slides free. It feels like it’s taking a layer of his insides with him.

 

“Yuri, wait…” he hears Otabek over the ringing in his ears but he’s already pushing back, forcing the other boy’s length deep inside him again, so deep it feels like it’s carving its own path through him.

 

It hurts so much he can’t breathe. There’s a twinge in his ass that feels like something might have torn, and his legs are shaking so much he’s not sure how long he’ll be able to keep himself upright. But this pain is sharp, and pure, and uncomplicated, and Yuri would take it in an instant over the murky, confusing pain that’s been eating away at his brain since he first hit the ice that afternoon.

 

He snaps his hips forward and back again in quick succession, the movement slightly smoother this time, and something dark inside of him purrs in satisfaction as he hears another groan of pleasure practically ripped from Otabek’s throat. He starts up a cruel and unrelenting pace, completely ignoring Otabek’s hands gripping his hips in an attempt to slow him down.

 

“Ah, fuck, Yuri,” Otabek’s voice is raw, his fingers digging into Yuri’s hipbones. Yuri whines in agreement and fucks him faster, hoping his fingers will tighten enough to leave bruises. “I can’t, it’s too much, I’m gonna…” He feels Otabek pulse inside him, spilling his seed into the condom before folding on top of him. It’s the final straw for Yuri’s overworked limbs and he collapses down into the mattress, panting heavily.

 

It takes him a moment to realize that his cock isn’t straining underneath him, that in fact it’s completely soft against his belly. He wonders idly when that happened. He doesn’t really care, his orgasm seems irrelevant either way, especially now that the sharp, pure pain of his body has stopped and the muddy pain of his brain is threatening the edges of his consciousness. He wants to howl in frustration. He thought this would be enough, he really did.

 

Reaching behind him he shoves at Otabek’s shoulder, and the other boy obediently rolls off him. Yuri gasps as his cock slips free, his hole shuddering in protest at the harsh scrape against his insides. It somehow hurts even more coming out, Yuri doesn’t know how that’s even possible.

 

Not for the first time, Yuri is grateful for condoms not just as a safety precaution, but also as a means for minimizing cleanup after the fact. He slowly pushes himself up to sitting, resolutely ignoring eye contact with Otabek as much as he resolutely ignores the pain radiating from his ass.

 

He stands gingerly, then bends down to pick up his boxers which are his closest item of clothing to the bed. He can’t help the whimper that escapes from him.

 

“Yuri?” Otabek’s voice sounds small and concerned behind him, and he feels a hand stroke along his arm. He roughly shakes off the gesture, walking out of the bedroom without looking back.

 

He collects his strewn clothes and dresses in the dark in the living room. He’s vaguely aware of Otabek coming to stand silently in the doorway of the bedroom, but he doesn’t acknowledge the other boy as he finishes putting himself together.

  
He leaves the apartment without a word. It’s the first time he’s ever not stayed the night.   


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning when Yuri wakes up, he knows he’s gone too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apparently have no chill when posting - turns out a week is actually quite a long time when you only have edits to do (who knew!) So I have a NEW POSTING SCHEDULE. I will now be updating on Sunday and Thursday every week. (Lets see how long I manage to stick to this one!)
> 
> Hope you enjoy this installment!

The next morning when Yuri wakes up, he knows he’s gone too far. His whole body feels like it’s been hit by a truck, and the sharp pain radiating from his ass is almost unbearable. He winces as he gingerly slides out of bed, feeling like a man of seventy, not seventeen.

 

It takes him twice as long to get ready, his movements slow and awkward as he goes through his morning routine. He bends down to pick up his skates and white spots explode behind his eyes as pain radiates through his lower half. He can tell before he’s even left his apartment that today’s practice is going to be a disaster.

 

He’s not wrong.

 

He can land his jumps today - small victories, he’s not entirely sure what he would have done if it turned out he couldn’t land his toe loops two days in a row - but he’s stiff and ungainly. His body screams in protest on every takeoff, he can feel the reverberation of the ice through his entire frame on every touchdown. All thoughts of elegance have been completely forgotten, his entire focus dedicated to making sure he stays on his feet. He’s sure that if he falls on his ass he won’t be able to stop the tears, and crying in front of his teammates is the stuff nightmares are made of.

 

“Stop, stop,” Yakov calls from the edge of the rink. Yuri slows to a standstill, trying not to visibly wince as his blades scratch across the ice, sending little ripples of pain up his legs. Yakov skates over to him, and Yuri can see the frown on his face a mile off.

 

He skids to a stop right in front of Yuri and raps him on the head, closed fist as if knocking on a door. “Are you asleep in there boy?” Yuri scowls and ducks away from his coach, crossing his arms defensively.

 

“I’m a fifty-four year old with a hip replacement and I’ve got more grace in my big toe than I can see from you today.” Yakov says. He pauses and looks Yuri up and down disdainfully. “Tell me, are you a fifty-four year old with a hip replacement?”

 

“No Yakov,” Yuri mutters sullenly. He can feel the flush rising on his cheeks in embarrassment. He hates to be reprimanded so publicly.

 

“Then get back out there and show me some god-damn elegance!” Yakov yells, spinning on his toe pick and skating back towards the edge of the rink. “Again!”

 

It doesn’t get any better after that. In fact, the session slowly deteriorates until Yuri is nothing more than a robot going through the motions, his inner monologue a constant litany of swear words in every language he knows. He starts his short program step sequence and knows immediately that he’s not going to get through it without his legs giving up on him, so opts to skip every third step and hope Yakov doesn’t notice.

 

Of course he notices.

 

“Yurochka if you don’t get your ass in gear and at least look as if you’re trying then you can get the hell off my rink!” Yakov’s words hit him like a punch to the gut and Yuri can’t help it, he sees red. He rounds on his coach, eyes squinted and fists clenched.

  
“Listen, old man,” he starts, his voice practically shaking with rage, but he’s interrupted before he has a chance to really get going.

  
“Excuse me, Mr Feltsman, Sir,” Otabek’s calm tone cuts through Yuri’s rising hysteria and he turns in surprise to see Otabek skating towards them. He slows to a stop in front of Yakov and continues talking, ignoring Yuri completely.

 

“Please don’t judge Yuri too harshly, it’s my fault he’s skating how he is today.” Yuri can feel his entire face flame red and he lets out a short but perfectly detectable squeak at the idea of Yakov finding out about their ‘extra-curricular’ activities. Otabek just continues like he isn’t about to mortify Yuri in front of his coach and all his teammates.

 

“I’ve been struggling to land my quad salchow, and last night Yuri offered to help me practice after hours.” Yuri can’t help but furrow his brow in confusion at Otabek’s words, but luckily Yakov is too busy being shocked that Otabek has had the audacity to interrupt them to pay attention to how this is new information to Yuri too. “I … well I wasn’t looking where I was going and I skated into Yuri. He broke my fall.” Otabek brings one hand up to scratch behind his ear, the very picture of embarrassed innocence. “He didn’t want to tell you because he didn’t want to inconvenience you, but he’s bruised his side pretty bad.”

 

There’s a moment of stunned silence as Yakov looks the Kazakh skater up and down, as if trying to see any physical evidence of a lie. He looks back at Yuri, who hurries to arrange his face into something that looks a little less confused and a little more ‘resigned admittance’. He has no idea if it works, but finally Yakov gives a small grunt of acknowledgement.

 

“Fine, take yourself to medical, get yourself looked at. In fact _you_ ,” he pokes Otabek in the chest with his index finger, eyes furrowed, “can take him, since apparently it’s your fault my star skater is out of action.”  

 

Otabek nods sincerely, “I will. I’m truly sorry Mr Feltsman.” Yakov levels the older boy one more devastating glare - and Yuri wonders if Otabek knows he’s just made an enemy for life - and then spins around to skate to the other side of the rink where Victor and Katsudon are practicing, grumbling to himself about stupid teenage boys and their stupid after hours practices. Yuri and Otabek are left alone in the center of the ice, both eyeing each other warily.

 

After a long moment Otabek gives a small huff and reaches for Yuri’s elbow. “Come on, let’s get you to medical then.”

 

Yuri means to thank the other boy for sacrificing himself on the altar of Yakov like that, he really does. Unfortunately what comes out of his mouth instead is “I don’t need to go to medical.” He’s uncomfortably aware of how close his voice sounds to a whine.

 

“Yes. You do.” Otabek’s voice is film and unrelenting, and Yuri somehow finds himself scowling but following him off the ice nonetheless.

 

The pair of them unlace their skates and walk the short distance to the medical room in uncomfortable silence. Otabek is just slightly ahead of Yuri and doesn’t turn back to look at him once. Yuri doesn’t know why that irritates him as much as it does.

 

Otabek knocks on the door to the medical room, then pushes it open when he hears a polite “Come in,” from the other side. He gestures for Yuri to go in first, and then follows him inside, closing the door behind them both.

 

There’s a young woman sitting at the desk, and she turns and smiles when the two of them walk into the room. “Otabek, good to see you,” she says, standing up and crossing towards them.

 

Otabek’s face breaks into a rare smile, “Hi Alina.” His usual monotone has been replaced with something shockingly close to open affection. Yuri’s scowl deepens, and he crosses his arms in front of him, hunching his shoulders defensively. Otabek pointedly ignores Yuri’s fidgeting as he continues speaking. “This is my friend Yuri. He’s … in some pain.”

 

The woman - _Alina_ \- looks Yuri up and down, and something that looks dangerously like recognition flits across her features. She looks back at Otabek and starts talking very quickly in a language Yuri doesn’t recognize. Otabek’s features slip back to their usual neutrality, and there’s a bit of a bite to his words as he responds in the same language. Yuri’s head whips back and forth between the pair of them, trying to keep track of a conversation he has no chance of following. After a few minutes he gives up and throws up his hands. “Excuse me,” he says loudly in Russian, “but I thought we were here for me?”

 

Alina gives Otabek one more undecipherable look, then turns to Yuri with a warm smile. “I’m sorry about that Yuri, please sit down.” Her accent has the same twang as Otabek’s and Yuri wonders if they had been speaking Kazakh to one another. He’s a little embarrassed that he has no idea what Otabek’s national language sounds like; they’ve always used Russian when they’re together.

 

Yuri moves towards the stool that Alina motioned to. He’s about to sit down when his brain registers the hard plastic surface, and he thinks better of it. “Actually, I’d rather stand,” he says, fixing the doctor with a scowl in the hopes that it will put her off asking why exactly he doesn’t want to sit

 

Alina merely smiles that infuriating smile of hers. “As you wish,” she says, moving to sit back down at her desk. “Otabek tells me you’ve been having pain in your lower half. Could you describe the pain for me?”

 

Yuri shoots Otabek a horrified look, wondering what else he said. Otabek just raises an eyebrow and nods his head in the doctor’s direction. Yuri gives a heavy sigh. “It’s a sharp pain, like a twinge?” he says, trying and failing not to let his embarrassment show on his face.

 

Alina nods. “Do you have any deeper pain, around here?” she asks, gesturing to her own abdomen.

 

Yuri shakes his head rapidly, desperately wishing for this to be over. “No it’s just a surface level burn. Honestly, it’s nothing. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

 

Alina levels him with a look so serious Yuri thinks for a brief second that if she and Otabek ever got into a staring competition the world would probably end before they did. “Be that as it may, I’d like to do a proper exam, just to be sure.”

 

“A proper...you mean....No. Nope. Absolutely not!” Yuri shakes his head rapidly, feeling every molecule of spare blood in his body immediately rush to flush his face in embarrassment. He looks pleadingly at Otabek but the other boy’s expression is completely unreadable.

 

Alina gives him a slightly tight smile. “Of course Yuri, you’re well within your right to decline medical help, I can’t make you do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

 

“Good, great, then in that case we’re going. Come on Otabek.” Yuri whips around and makes for the door, grabbing Otabek’s arm on the way past. He gets exactly the length of his arm-span before he registers the fact that Otabek isn’t coming with him, and he’s forced to jerk to a sudden stop. He turns and looks in betrayal at Otabek. “ _Otabek_ ,” he says, a hint of pleading in his voice.

  
“Yuri.” Otabek simply replies, and Yuri wants to scream in frustration.

 

“I promise I’ll be quick,” Alina says. Yuri opens his mouth to object once more but Otabek cuts him off smoothly.

 

“I’ll wait outside,” he says, giving Yuri the briefest of smiles before disappearing out the door.

 

The click of the door sounds like a death knoll, and Yuri’s imagination conjures up an incredibly unhelpful vision of Otabek holding it closed from the outside to prevent him from making a break for it.

 

“Ok, hop up onto the bed for me Yuri,” says Alina, snapping on a pair of gloves (the insinuation making Yuri feel a little queasy). “It’ll be over before you know it.”

 

“I hate both of you,” Yuri mutters sullenly to himself as he finally admits defeat and climbs gingerly onto the bed, lying on his stomach and pillowing his head on his arms. He can’t help throwing the darkest of glares over his shoulder as he hears Alina approach. “Come on hag, get it over with then.”

 

“I can see why Otabek likes you,” Alina replies, her voice entirely too bright considering what she’s about to do.

 

* * *

 

Fifteen minutes later Yuri slips out of Alina’s office feeling thoroughly sorry for himself. He imagines this is how his grandpa’s cat must have felt after they took him to the vet to have his parts snipped. Poor Tiger. Poor Yuri.

 

Otabek is leaning against the far wall, one leg propped behind him and arms crossed, the very picture of casual nonchalance. Yuri stomps over to him and thrusts a piece of paper against his chest, glaring up at the older boy. “Clean bill of health, I just have to take it easy for a day or two. Happy now?”

 

Otabek looks Yuri up and down slowly, his expression infuriatingly neutral. “Am I happy that you had to get medical attention because you almost permanently injured yourself on my dick?” Something catches in Yuri’s throat at the crass language and even crasser implications, but he stoutly refuses to break eye contact.

 

The moment stretches out between them tight and fragile. Eventually Otabek gives a small sigh and plucks the piece of paper still shoved against his chest out of Yuri’s fingers. He scans the page quickly - as if he thinks Yuri might actually be lying, the nerve of him! - then gives a quick nod, handing it back.

 

“You’ve been excused from practice tomorrow,” he simply says.

 

Yuri nods, his rage not quite knowing what to do with itself in the face of Otabek’s staunch immovability. “Alina said that if Yakov gives me any trouble to send him her way. Not quite sure what that hag thinks she can do about it but whatever.”

 

“You’d be surprised,” Otabek replies and there’s a fondness in his tone that surprises Yuri. He looks questioningly at Otabek but before he can say anything the other boy pushes off the wall and starts walking along the hallway. “Come on then.”

 

It doesn’t even occur to Yuri to object.

 

They walk in silence for a few minutes before Yuri’s curiosity gets the better of him. “Girlfriend?” he asks. He can’t help the snide tone that leaks into his voice, they had seemed _awfully_ familiar back there. Otabek just turns and raises an eyebrow at him, and Yuri’s mouth slams shut.

 

He lasts another few steps before trying again. “So what did you tell her about us?”

 

“The truth.”

 

Otabek’s response has Yuri drawing up short. “You did what?” he says, uncomfortably aware of the note of hysteria that’s slipping into his voice.

 

Otabek stops too and turns to face the other boy, his features a careful mask of neutrality. “I didn’t realize I was your dirty little secret,” he replies.

 

Yuri sputters. “You’re not...I don’t...that’s not what I meant!” he exclaims, even though it sort of exactly is. He’s not _ashamed_ of what they do together, but he certainly isn’t ready for other people to know about them yet.

 

Otabek stares at him for a long second, clearly waiting for Yuri to say more. When the younger boy can only sputter in shock he gives a dejected sigh before turning around and starting to walk again. “Don’t worry, Alina won’t tell anyone.”

 

“How can you be so sure?” Yuri pushes, jogging a little to catch up.

 

“Because she’s my sister.”  
  
“Your sister?!” Yuri’s voice goes embarrassingly high pitched, and he clamps his hand in front of his mouth to prevent any more humiliating noises from escaping. He vaguely remembers Otabek mentioning an older sister who had just qualified in sports medicine during one of their late night skype calls, but…

  
“You didn’t tell me she was in St Petersburg,” he says, almost petulantly.

 

“It must have slipped my mind during the hundreds of conversations we’ve had since I arrived.”

 

Well...that shut him up didn’t it?

 

They finish walking home in awkward silence after that, and Yuri barely registers where they’re going until they stop outside Otabek’s apartment door. The older boy unlocks the door and holds it open for Yuri. “I think we need to talk, don’t you?”  
  
Yuri opens his mouth to argue, but he can tell from the set of Otabek’s jaw that this isn’t a debate he’s going to win, so he ducks under Otabek’s arm into his living room, his mind trying to calculate just how awkward this conversation is going to be, on a scale of 1 to Katsudon trying to channel his inner Eros.

 

He slumps down on the sofa, ignoring the flare of pain radiating from his ass as he makes contact. He kicks off his shoes and props his feet up on the coffee table in front of him, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow defiantly at Otabek. The other boy sits on the sofa next to him, his body only slightly angled towards him.

 

“What happened last night, that can never happen again.” Otabek says simply, and Yuri feels all the defiance leave him like air from a balloon. He visibly deflates, body curling in on itself as Otabek’s words cut through him more effectively than any knife.

 

“Because you hated it,” Yuri says. It’s supposed to be a statement of fact, but his voice cracks right at the end and makes it sound far more like a question than he wants. Of course. Of course Otabek hated their sex yesterday. After all, all Yuri did was take and give nothing back. Honestly, it shouldn’t be a surprise that Otabek want’s nothing more to do with him after the stunt he pulled; Yuri had practically treated him like his own personal sex toy.

 

He ducks his head as tears threaten to spill; there’s no way he’s going to give Otabek the satisfaction of seeing him cry, not now. “I understand. I guess it was fun while it lasted,” he says, aiming for casually nonchalant and landing somewhere between dejected and heartbroken.

 

Yuri has resolutely avoided thinking about their relationship. It’s just something fun they do when they’re both at competitions to let off some steam, it doesn’t _mean_ anything.

 

Turns out it means a whole lot more to Yuri now that it’s over.

 

“What? No, because you could have done yourself some serious damage there Yuri. This isn’t about me, I’m worried about _you_.”

 

Yuri’s head whips up in confusion at Otabek’s words. They make no sense at all. Everything that happened last night was initiated by Yuri, surely if he went too far then that’s his own damn fault for being an idiot.

 

His confusion must show on his face as Otabek gives a small sigh, and shifts closer towards him. He places a warm, comforting hand on Yuri’s leg and ducks his head slightly so that their gazes are level. “You think I don’t know what you were trying to do last night? I get it Yuri, I promise I do. But you can’t go about it like you did yesterday, it’s not good for you and…” Otabek pauses for a moment, as if considering whether to continue “...and it’s not fair to me either.”

 

Otabek’s voice is so open, so honest that something inside of Yuri cracks. “I’m sorry,” he practically whispers, “I get it if you don’t want to see me again, or be my friend or whatever we are any more.” He can feel his voice breaking and the tears he had been so careful to keep at bay start to trickle down his cheeks. He can’t believe how badly he’s fucked up, how completely he’s ruined this friendship that means so much to him.

 

He feels the soft brush of Otabek’s thumb against his cheek, wiping away an errant tear. He looks up in surprise to meet Otabek’s gaze, and the expression staring back at him is so tender, so intimate that it makes something inside his chest stutter. “You don’t get rid of me that easily I’m afraid.” Otabek replies with a hint of a grin on his face.

 

Yuri’s brow furrows in confusion, his poor exhausted brain trying and failing to keep up with the conversation. “But you just said…” he starts lamely, trailing off when he realizes he has no idea what’s going on.

 

“Last night, you wanted to hurt right? You were upset with yourself and felt like you needed to suffer for your failings on the ice. That’s why you came to me, that’s why you were so rough with yourself.” Otabek pauses, seemingly waiting for a response from Yuri. When Yuri can only stare slack jawed he shrugs and continues. “If that’s what you feel like you need then I can give you that, but in a way that won’t leave you such a mess on the ice the next day. I can make sure you get everything you need in a safe, sane and consensual way.”  


Yuri tries to understand what Otabek is suggesting, he really does, but it feels like he’s grasping at a rope that is held just too far above his head to reach. “I don’t... what are you saying?” he asks, feeling his temper start to rise again - he never has been much good with being kept out of the loop.

 

“Have you ever heard of BDSM?”

 

The acronym hangs in the air between them, and for a moment Yuri is too shocked to say anything. Then his brain processes what Otabek is suggesting and a laugh bubbles from his lips.

  
“BDSM? You mean like Dominatrixes and stuff?” Yuri can’t tell if he finds the suggestion hilarious or offensive. “So you’re saying you want me to be your meek little submissive? And what would that make you, my big strong dominant here to make me kneel before your great dick of power?” Another laugh rips from him, this one louder and more hysterical than the last. The conversation has taken a very surreal turn and Yuri knows he’s not even close to being in the right frame of mind to deal with it.

 

“That’s….not exactly what BDSM is.” Otabek replies, as unfazed as ever. “What I’m trying to say is that if you start to feel the way you did yesterday again then I can help you, but it has to be on my terms,” Otabek replies. “I think I can give you what you need Yuri, but there have to be boundaries, and rules.”

  
“So you’ll fuck me just as long as I wear a leather thong and call you Master?” Yuri can’t believe that they are even discussing this.

 

“Only if you want to.” Otabek’s expression is carefully neutral, but Yuri swears he can hear a hint of teasing in his voice. “Look, just think about it okay. Go home, do some research. If it’s something you’re interested in we can discuss it. If not that’s okay too, we can go back to the way things were. But Yuri, I meant it when I said that what happened last night can never happen again.”

 

Otabek’s words sober Yuri faster than a cold bucket of water to the head. He can’t believe that Otabek is actually trying to mend this thing that Yuri has broken between them, can’t believe he would even want to. He doesn’t deserve Otabek’s commitment to their friendship, doesn’t deserve the other boy at all. “Ok, I’ll think about it,” he says, still not entirely sure exactly what it is he’s agreeing to think about, but knowing that if it’s important to Otabek then it at least deserves his attention.

 

Otabek’s expression breaks into one of those rare smiles of his, and Yuri knows he’s answered correctly. “Thank you Yuri, that’s all I’m asking.”

 

It all gets a bit awkward after that, and Yuri decides to make a hasty retreat back to his room. He’s got a lot to think about after all. Otabek stops him just as he’s about to leave and places a soft kiss on his cheek. “Since I didn’t get the chance last night,” he says softly. Yuri practically flees down the corridor in response.

 

Once back in the safety of his own room, Yuri fires up his laptop and spends a good minute just staring at the blinking cursor in Google’s search box. He has no idea where to start. Part of him wishes he’d asked Otabek for some links, but the rest of him laughs at that idea because, really, that would have just been the awkward cherry on the top of this whole mortifying experience.

 

He decides to start his ‘research’ by looking at some Dominatrix porn. It’s pretty much exactly what he expected. Lots of leather and masks and ballgags and while it’s not _bad_ (he has to take a quick break to sort himself out after a particularly steamy video, the idea of Otabek wearing that getup was way too hot to simply be ignored) he has a feeling it’s not exactly what Otabek had in mind.

 

He’s a bit more selective with his search terms the next time he attacks Google, and this directs him to a number of blogs run by people who are in the ‘scene’, as it turns out it’s called. These are much more helpful, and Yuri starts to discover more and more similarities between his thought processes, and those of the submissives who blog about their experiences. He even finds one written by a self-titled ‘Brat’, and Yuri almost chokes on his drink at how much he can relate to the boy running the blog.

 

“ _‘Sometimes I needle my master for hours on end, just to see how far I can push him. Sometimes I don’t even realize I’m doing it.’_ ” Yuri reads. “ _‘He can spot the difference even when I can’t, knows when to humor me and knows when to draw me back from the line if I look like I’m about to cross it.’_ ” He can’t lie, it definitely sounds appealing.

 

He follows the rabbit hole down into the depths of the internet, learning more and more about this subculture that he had no idea even existed but speaks to him on such an intense, visceral level. All of a sudden his alarm is blaring and he hasn’t slept a wink but he feels more alive than he has in weeks.

 

He finds himself outside Otabek’s door at 7am, now overwhelmingly grateful for the few days’ grace the other boy has managed to wrangle him. When Otabek opens the door, toothbrush in his mouth and clearly not expecting a visitor so early, Yuri doesn’t even bother with saying hello. He flashes Otabek a blinding grin that is one part excitement and three parts sleep deprivation.

  
“I’m in.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yuri. It’s ten past seven.” Otabek’s voice has a hint of exasperation to it as he cuts off Yuri again. Yuri can’t help thinking that the older boy looks a bit shell-shocked.
> 
> “Is it?” Yuri asks, his voice innocent. It’s a lie, he knows exactly what time it is. He’s been waiting to come over since five am but he thought that would have been a little rude.

“I’m in,” is the first thing Yuri says.

 

“You look like a chipmunk right now,” is the second.

 

It’s true. Otabek’s cheeks are puffed out around his toothbrush, and there’s a little furrow between his eyes as he stares at Yuri on the doorstep. It’s kind of adorable, Yuri thinks as he ducks under the arm Otabek’s using to hold the door open and makes his way into his living room, plopping himself down on the sofa with a small huff.

 

“I did a bunch of reading, and  _ dude  _ there’s some kinky shit out there. But it sounds kind of interesting and I think it might be fun, so if you’re up for it then I’m up for it too. No animal butt plugs though, I don’t like the look of those. Or at least I don’t think I do, there was a kind of cool tiger one I guess....” Yuri’s aware that he’s rambling, but Otabek isn’t saying anything and Yuri feels like he needs to fill the air in order to avoid the awkward silence that he knows will take its place if he doesn’t.

 

Otabek cuts Yuri off by holding up a finger, silently asking Yuri to wait a moment. Yuri frowns but keeps quiet as Otabek disappears through a door that must lead to a bathroom. He hears Otabek spitting - is that gross? Yuri feels like it should be gross but somehow it’s not. Maybe because it’s Otabek’s spit. Interesting. The tap runs for a moment and then Otabek re-enters the room, drying his face on a towel as he does.

 

“Good, you’re back.” Yuri says before Otabek even stops walking. “So, what happens next? I read online that we need to have a contract, but I’m not sure if that’s too much since, you know, it’s just us. But I’ve been thinking about safewords and...”

 

“Yuri. It’s ten past seven.” Otabek’s voice has a hint of exasperation to it as he cuts off Yuri again. Yuri can’t help thinking that the older boy looks a bit shell-shocked.

  
“Is it?” Yuri asks, his voice innocent. It’s a lie, he knows exactly what time it is. He’s been waiting to come over since five am but he thought that would have been a  _ little  _ rude.

 

“It’s also a Tuesday.” 

 

“So?”

 

“So I have to leave for training in five minutes.”

 

“Oh. Right.” Understanding hits Yuri over the head like a sledgehammer and all of a sudden he’s completely mortified. What on earth had he been thinking? Of course Otabek has training.  _ Yuri _ would have had training if he hadn’t gotten signed off by Alina yesterday. The pair of them are world class athletes, they practice every day of the week. “Of course. Sorry. Stupid.” Yuri pushes off the sofa and makes for the door, resolutely not making eye contact with Otabek as he walks past. “I’ll just go.”

 

“Yuri, wait.” Otabek’s words have a hint of panic to them and when Yuri looks up Otabek looks alarmed, as if he thinks maybe Yuri won’t come back again if he leaves now. (It’s not an entirely unfair assumption, Yuri has to admit.) “Don’t go.”

 

Yuri pauses by the door, unsure. “But. You have practice,” he repeats like the idiot he clearly is.

 

“It’s just a morning session today, I’ll be off the ice by twelve. Wait for me, please?” 

 

Something skips in Yuri’s chest at the idea of Otabek wanting him to stay, but he’s still raw with embarrassment, and his sharpest edges always show themselves when he feels like he’s on the back foot. “What, you want me to sit and wait for you like a good little housewife? Shall I have lunch ready for you when you get back,  _ darling _ ?”

 

Otabek lets out a short, relieved laugh and Yuri feels his hackles come up further. He scowls as Otabek gently takes him by the elbow and leads him over to the table that’s between the sofa and the kitchen in his open-plan living room. “Why don’t you start making a list of limits and kinks, and we can go over them when I get back?”

 

Yuri sits in the chair Otabek pulls out for him with a huff. “I don’t have a pen and paper,” he says petulantly. Otabek gives another small laugh and walks over to the other side of the room to rummage through his desk. He returns a moment later with a thick sheaf of paper and a pen. 

 

“Will this be enough?” he teases.

 

Yuri scowls again and snatches the paper from Otabek’s outstretched hands. “We’ll see,” he mutters. “I’m  _ very _ kinky, I’ll have you know.”

 

“I don’t doubt it for a second,” Otabek replies, voice indulgent. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

 

Yuri scowls at Otabek’s back until the other boy has left the apartment, the door sliding shut with a clack that is far too loud for the silence that follows. He gives a small growl and turns back to the paper in front of him, picking up the pen determinedly. He’s going to come up with a list so long and so filthy Otabek will be blushing for a month.

 

Half an hour later the paper is still completely blank, just like Yuri’s brain.

 

Yuri gives a frustrated sigh and scribbles across the first sheet, a big messy scrawl that covers the whole length of the page. Its pristine surface has been taunting him, mocking his inability to come up with even one thing to write down.

 

It’s stupid, Yuri knows that. He’s not some blushing virgin, there are loads of things that he’d like to try, especially with Otabek. He’s fantasized about more than one of them on more than one occasion, but right now, on the cusp of fantasy turning to reality, his mind has gone completely, frustratingly blank. 

 

He gives another sigh and snatches up the first sheet, crumpling it into a ball and lobbing it in the direction of the wastepaper basket next to the desk on the other side of the room. It plops neatly in, not even touching the edges, and Yuri gives himself a moment to enjoy it. At least he can do that right.

 

His attention catches on Otabek’s laptop sitting open on the desk, and suddenly he has an idea. He gets up and walks over to the desk, grabbing the laptop and bringing it back to the table. It’s already on, and unlocked. Yuri can’t help smiling at how trusting Otabek is - seriously, who doesn’t password protect their laptop? - before loading up a web browser and navigating to one of the sites he found during his investigations yesterday. At the same time he draws a four column table on the next sheet of paper with ‘Definitely Yes’, ‘Probably Yes’, ‘Probably No’ and ‘Definitely No’ as the headings. He’ll google as many kinks as possible, and sort them into categories. Perfect. 

 

His plan goes well for about twenty minutes, before he gets stumped by hickeys of all things. He immediately writes it under ‘Definitely Yes’, his brain helpfully supplying him with all manner of enjoyable images of Otabek sucking deep, claiming bruises all along his pale neck. It’s an easy decision and he’s just about to move down the list when a small part of his brain tugs him back, something uneasy clawing at him to wait. He remembers the sheer, sweeping neckline of his Short Program outfit, and the idea of competing with those sorts of marks visible suddenly makes him feel queasy. That’s a definite no apparently.

 

He scribbles out hickeys from the far left column and goes to move it to the far right, but his pen hovers above the page. That’s not right either, he doesn’t want to  _ never  _ explore hickeys. Just...with some limitations.

 

Yuri lets out a loud growl of despair, staring down dejectedly at his neat table, almost half a page long. How is this so difficult? He glares at the paper, since it’s clearly its fault that this is turning into such a stressful exercise.

 

He eventually abandons the table altogether, and starts just listing kinks with comments next to them. It’s not nearly as organized, but Yuri guesses these sorts of emotions never are. It’s a lot easier this way though, and it lets him add more qualifiers to exactly what he wants and doesn’t want. Hickeys get a yes but not anywhere that would be visible in competition, and he also puts yes next to bondage and punishments. Scat and watersports are both hard-no’s, but breath play and sensory deprivation go down as maybes. Next to orgasm denial he just puts a row of question marks. He spends a long time with his pen hovering next to animal roleplay, and eventually notes down yes to collars and butt plugs, but only if they’re feline. Absolutely no to cat ears though, that’s too far.

 

He’s really getting into the swing of things, his list almost to the bottom of the third page, when his stomach lets out an ungodly rumble. It surprises Yuri enough that he jumps in his seat, his pen crossing up through the last item on his list. He pauses for a second, then laughs at his reaction. He looks down at his watch and is surprised to see that it’s half past eleven. He’s not quite sure where the morning went, but he skipped breakfast and his stomach is now complaining. Loudly.

 

He gets up and makes his way over to the kitchenette, figuring Otabek won’t mind if he makes himself some lunch. He rummages through Otabek’s shockingly empty kitchen, and eventually digs a bag of frozen pelmeni out of the freezer. He sets a pan of water boiling and lobs half the packet in, not really thinking too much about quantities. It’s only when the little parcels are almost cooked that Yuri realizes that he’s made far too much for any one person to reasonably consume on their own - not even him on his high-carb figure skating diet.

 

He briefly considers eating it all anyway just to prove a point, but then decides that even he’s not that obtuse. Plus the food is Otabek’s anyway, so he guesses it would be a little unfair.

 

He’s splitting the pelmeni between two bowls when Otabek returns home, the door clicking open at exactly midday. Yuri looks up and his insides do a happy little flip in response to how good Otabek looks, all sweaty and exhausted from his morning training. He licks his lips unconsciously, too distracted to say anything.

 

Otabek dumps his skates by the front door, and heads over to the kitchenette. “That smells good,” he says with a grin.

 

Yuri scowls and immediately averts his gaze, pouring all his attention into finishing dishing up the food. “Yeah well, I made too much. Don’t get any ideas,” he mutters.

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Otabek replies, and Yuri swears his tone is teasing, even though when he looks up the other boy’s expression is carefully neutral - the many neutral faces of Otabek Altin, Yuri can’t help thinking. “I’m just going to jump in the shower quickly, don’t wait for me to eat.” 

 

He turns round and pulls his shirt over his head as he walks to the bathroom, and Yuri’s brain completely short circuits at the sight of Otabek’s rippling back muscles, covered with the faintest sheen of sweat.

 

The door to the bathroom has already closed by the time he comes back to his senses. “I wasn’t going to anyway,” he calls out, well aware that his comeback is about five minutes too late.

 

By the time Otabek emerges twenty minutes later, dressed in sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, Yuri has finished his food and has most certainly  _ not  _ spent the whole time imagining Otabek in the shower. Not at all.

 

Otabek sits at the table next to Yuri and drags his bowl in front of him. “This really does smell amazing,” he says, giving Yuri a small smile before tucking in. 

 

Yuri hesitates for a second and then pushes the pages he’s written on over to Otabek. “So I made a list,” he says, then trails off, not quite sure what to follow up with.

 

Otabek looks up at Yuri, then down at the papers. “May I?” he asks.

 

“That’s kinda the point isn’t it?” 

 

Otabek picks up the paper and starts reading through the list. The silence between them is oppressive; the only sound is Otabek’s fork scraping against the bowl as he continues to eat, and Yuri tries his hardest not to fidget.

 

Otabek finishes his food and the list at the same time, and pushes the bowl away from him so that he can place the papers down in front of him. Yuri can’t handle the suspense any longer.

  
“So, did I pass?” he asks. He means for it to come out mocking, but really he just sounds desperate for approval.

 

Otabek huffs a small laugh. “That’s not exactly how it works, Yuri.” 

 

Yuri rolls his eyes. “I know, I know. But...what do you think?” He can’t help the tension that’s starting to build in his stomach, as he suddenly starts to imagine all the ways that Otabek might decide they’re incompatible. He’s knows he’s only been considering this new facet of their relationship for the last twenty four hours, but somehow the idea of not getting to at least try it is unbearably painful.

 

Otabek must see the tension in Yuri’s expression, as he gives a small smile and reaches out to cover Yuri’s hand resting in front of him of the table. “There’s a lot on this list I’m very excited to try with you.”

 

Yuri practically melts into the words. He can’t help the returning smile he gives Otabek in response.

 

“There are a few things I think we need to discuss though,” Otabek continues, turning his attention back to the list in front of him, trailing his finger down the front page until it rests on a bullet point. Yuri leans closer so he can see which point Otabek is referencing, and reads it aloud.

  
“Permanent marks - not anywhere that might be visible during competition.” It’s the same qualifier that Yuri added to ‘Hickeys/Love Bites’ right at the top of the page, and also to ‘Bruises/Broken skin’ which he added after researching some of the more intense forms of impact play (all of which ended up with a yes next to them).

 

He frowns, confused as to why Otabek is drawing his attention to his qualifier. Of all the things he thought he and Otabek might disagree on, he’s surprised it’s this. Surely Otabek understands the importance of presentation as a figure skater? “Ummm...it’s just that my outfits are kind of revealing this season, and you know how the judges can get.” Yuri starts to explain, wondering if this is something he’d be willing to compromise on if Otabek really wanted it, and hating that he’s pretty sure the answer is no. “I don’t want to lose presentation marks because they’re too busy focusing on what’s on my body rather than what it’s doing.”

 

Otabek gives a small frown, confusion flitting across his features as he processes Yuri’s words. “Oh. No, Yuri that’s not what I meant at all,” he replies, and now it’s Yuri’s turn to look confused. “The idea of doing something to you that would leave a permanent mark, of causing you that much pain? I don’t … I could never do that to you.” Otabek looks genuinely distraught at the idea. He picks up the pen off the desk and crosses out the second half of the sentence, altering it so that it reads ‘Permanent marks - No’

 

Yuri shrugs, not sure he completely understands why the idea distresses Otabek quite so much, but pleased that he doesn’t have to compromise his stance on competitions. “Ok, sure, if it’s important to you,” he says.

 

“It is,” Otabek replies emphatically.

 

“Do you want to change hickeys as well?” Yuri asks. He’s a bit disappointed that Otabek isn’t into markings - he’s always had a bit of a soft spot for love bites - but if it isn’t Otabek’s thing then it’s not the end of the world.

 

Otabek gives Yuri an appraising look, as if trying to read something just under the surface of his skin. “No, hickeys are fine. Although I agree that we should avoid areas that might be seen during competition.”

 

Yuri tries not to seem too pleased. “It’s not a big deal if you’re not into that sort of stuff…”

 

“Yuri,” Otabek pauses, choosing his words carefully. “There’s a big difference between a love bite that fades and something you’ll have on you forever.” Yuri shrugs, dismissive of the distinction, which makes Otabek frown and shift his chair slightly closer. “You do know what permanent marks are, right?”   
  
“No need to patronize me,” Yuri replies, scowling and crossing his arms, suddenly feeling defensive. “It’s something that’s there forever, like a scar or a brand”.

 

“And you’d be okay with me doing something to you that would permanently scar you?” Otabek presses.

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Yuri retorts, his scowl deepening.

 

“You honestly don’t care what I do to your body? You’d be happy to give me free reign to do what I like to it?”

 

“As long as it doesn’t show in competition,” Yuri clarifies.

 

“Yuri!” Otabek exclaims, his eyes bright like he might be on the edge of tears.

 

“Look, my body and I haven’t exactly seen eye to eye since it decided to growth spurt on me with no warning,” Yuri snaps, starting to lose patience with the conversation. “It deserves what it gets as far as I’m concerned.”

 

Otabek gives Yuri another one of those pained looks that Yuri can’t quite decipher. “Okay, that’s something we definitely need to revisit later. But either way permanent marks are a hard no from me. I’m sorry Yuri, I just couldn’t do that to you”

 

Yuri shrugs. “Whatever, I wasn’t that fussed about it anyway.”

  
Things are a little bit awkward for the next few bullet points, but they get back into the swing of things soon enough. There are a couple more points that warrant further discussion - Otabek explains orgasm denial to Yuri and while the younger boy isn’t necessarily sure he sees the appeal, he agrees to give it a go when Otabek says he’d like to try it - but for the most part they’re pretty synchronized in their likes and dislikes. Yuri isn’t ashamed to admit how relieved he is when they reach the end of the list with no major disagreements.

 

“So I guess the only other things to discuss are safewords, and protection,” Otabek says, grouping the papers and banging them on the table to line the edges up.

 

“I’m fine with traffic lights,” Yuri says. He’s feeling surprisingly drained after their conversation, and he likes the idea of keeping things simple.

  
“Good, me too,” Otabek replies. “I’m also clean. I got tested just before I came to Russia so…” he pauses, and Yuri realizes he’s waiting for him to respond.

 

“I haven’t... I mean there’s only been you, so if you’re clean then I guess so am I,” Yuri stammers, wondering why admitting to the fact that he’s only slept with Otabek is so much harder than all the other discussions they’ve had in the past hour.

 

Otabek gives another soft smile, and Yuri wonders if Otabek knew that he had been Yuri’s first. “So, would you want to…” he prompts, trailing off again as he waits for Yuri’s response.

 

Yuri opens his mouth to answer, before realizing that he doesn’t know what he wants to say. Logically he knows that if they’re both clean they don’t need to use condoms, but there’s something strangely comforting about the thin layer of protection that goes beyond basic functionality.

 

“I think… I think I don’t mind not using them for most things. Condoms taste disgusting after all.” He hears a soft chuckle from Otabek in agreement, and he pauses for a moment, wondering how best to phrase how he feels. “But I don’t think I’m ready for you to…you know,  _ inside  _ me…not yet at least.” 

 

He wonders if he’ll ever feel less awkward discussing sex with Otabek. He has the filthiest, most extensive vocabulary of the whole of the Russian team, but somehow saying “come in my mouth but not in my ass,” seems excessively crude, even for him. 

 

Otabek seems to understand what he’s trying to say though, and he gives Yuri another one of those smiles that melt his insides. “Of course, we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. But for the record,” he leans closer, and drops his voice almost conspiratorially. “If you ever want to try the other way around, I wouldn’t mind if you ...you know, inside  _ me _ .”

 

Yuri chokes on air.

 

“Wait, you want me to fuck you?” he says, incredulous. Apparently a short sharp shock is all that’s needed for him to get over his aversion to speaking directly.

 

For the first time during their whole conversation, Otabek looks embarrassed, he reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “I mean, it was just an idea. If you don’t want to then that’s cool,” he backtracks and Yuri waves his hands in front of him because he needs to stop that train of thought right away, honestly.

 

“No, no, I want to. That sounds really fucking good, let’s do that,” he says hurriedly, needing to convey to Otabek just how okay with this suggestion he is. “I just didn’t think you were interested in that, that’s all.”

 

Otabek shrugs. “I’ve always just followed your lead,” he says, and Yuri has to admit that that’s probably true. He suddenly feels guilty.

 

“Do you not like…” he starts, but Otabek cuts him off before he can even finish the question.

  
“Of course I do. Seriously Yuri, have I ever given you the impression that I don’t enjoy what we do together?”

 

Yuri can’t help but laugh at Otabek’s dry tone. “Okay, fair.” He reaches over and picks up the list, adding one final bullet point at the bottom. He writes ‘switching -YES’, and then underlines the yes a few times for good measure. “Better?” he asks.

 

“Much.” Otabek agrees with a smile.

  
“Excellent.” Yuri says definitively. “So, does that mean we can start?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otabek strokes up Yuri’s leg, caressing his side as he travels up Yuri’s body to his shoulder. He presses down gently but firmly at the apex of Yuri’s neck. “Kneel for me, Yura.”

Otabek laughs, short and surprised. “Keen are we?” he asks, his voice teasing.

 

Yuri quirks an eyebrow, his grin mischievous. “Don’t tell me you’re not after all that discussion. I’ve been hard since the third bullet point.”

 

Otabek laughs again, but this time the sound is somehow deeper, richer. It sends little tingles of heat coursing through Yuri’s body. He leans closer, dropping his voice as he says “Bullet point three...that was bondage right?”

 

Yuri feels all the air in his body leave him in a rush. He can only nod, words having temporarily escaped him.

 

Otabek grins again, and stands up. His hand reaches out to stroke Yuri’s cheek, and Yuri instinctively leans into the touch before his brain can even think to think to object to the intimate gesture. Otabek disappears through the door into his bedroom, raising his voice so Yuri can still hear him. “You need to take it easy still, doctor’s orders remember, but I think I have an idea.” He returns to the living room with a length of bright fabric in his hands. He walks a couple of steps until he’s in the middle of the plush rug between the sofa and the television. “Come here Yuri,” he says, his voice deep and filled with promise.

 

Yuri almost trips over his own feet in his rush to obey. He stops just in front of Otabek, so close that he has to tip his head slightly upwards to meet the other boy’s gaze. Otabek grins and rewards him by dropping a quick kiss to Yuri’s lips. “Aren’t you good,” he mutters softly.

 

Part of Yuri wonders if he should object, should raise his hackles and claim that he’s not good at all, but he’s too distracted by how nice the words make him feel to say anything.

 

Otabek kisses him again, too briefly, and Yuri lifts onto his toes as Otabek pulls away, trying to chase down his lips again. Otabek laughs and pushes down on Yuri’s shoulders, gently but firmly.

 

“Get undressed,” he says.

 

For a moment Yuri is stunned by the command, by the blunt directness of it. He stares up at Otabek, who stares back, one eyebrow slightly raised. Yuri shakes his head roughly and reaches over his shoulder to pull his t-shirt off, balling the fabric in his hands and shoving it against Otabek’s chest. Otabek takes the garment from him, his fingers brushing against Yuri’s as he does, and the contact feels like electricity over Yuri’s overheated skin.

 

“Now the rest,” Otabek says, and Yuri hates how calm the other boy sounds considering he can barely hear the command over the blood rushing in his ears. He unbuttons his jeans and hooks his fingers into the elastic of his briefs underneath, shoving both articles of clothing down his legs the same time. He steps out of them and hooks them with his foot, flinging them to the side without ever breaking eye contact. He can’t help but finish the arc of his leg, bringing his toes up to his ear in a sideways split. He can feel the stretch all the way along his thigh, and the unfamiliar tug of his glutes reminds him of the damage he caused himself the other night, but he holds the position nonetheless, his expression challenging.

 

Otabek smiles and reaches out to push Yuri’s leg back down, and Yuri lets his limbs be guided by Otabek’s hands, still unable to draw his gaze away from the other boy’s face. “You know I love how flexible you are,” he praises. “But let’s save this until you’re recovered, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Yuri practically whispers, all of his usual bite absent from his words as his brain is suddenly flooded with all manner of suggestions for how they might fully utilize Yuri’s frankly unparalleled flexibility.

 

Otabek strokes up Yuri’s leg, caressing his side as he travels up Yuri’s body to his shoulder. He presses down gently but firmly at the apex of Yuri’s neck. “Kneel for me, Yura.”

 

It’s the first real command Otabek has given him, Yuri’s first true test of submission. Despite all the research he’s done, despite all their discussion and for all that he’s sure he wants to explore this, a part of him has still been unsure about how he’d react the first time Otabek actually gave him a command. Would he like it? Or would it feel stifling, restrictive? Would he even be able to follow orders, when so much of his life he’s rebelled against the idea of being nice, being agreeable, being _good_?

 

Yuri hits the floor like a rock through water, his knees landing with a heavy thud against the carpet that reverberates the entire way through his body. His eyes refuse to leave Otabek’s so his neck ends up at an awkward angle, but it’s worth it to see the look of adoration on Otabek’s face as Yuri follows his command.

 

“So perfect,” he breathes, taking a moment to just gaze down at Yuri. Yuri preens at the attention, finally letting his eyes slip closed and his head drop.

 

He hears rather than sees Otabek walk behind him. “Put your arms behind you, bring your elbows together”. Yuri complies, feeling his chest open as he stretches his arms backwards. He feels the slide of silk on his skin as Otabek starts wrapping the fabric around Yuri’s forearms, all the way from wrist to elbow and back again. He feels it tighten as Otabek ties it off, and then the end of the fabric is placed in his palm. “If you tug on this then the knot will undo,” Otabek explains.  

 

Yuri tries to move his arms, testing the restrictions, and he feels something flutter in his chest as his arms stay firmly in place. It’s exhilarating.

 

Otabek walks back in front of Yuri and stares down at the other boy, appraising. Yuri tries not to squirm under the intense attention. Otabek ponders for a moment longer then gives a short nod, as if suddenly deciding something. “Spread your legs for me, as far as you can.”

 

Yuri gives a small snort of derision. Honestly, was that supposed to be difficult or something? He bounces up from his kneeling position so that he’s perched on his toes, and then gracefully slides down into the splits. He feels the smooth ache along his inside thighs, the sign of a good stretch, and raises an eyebrow in challenge at Otabek.

 

Otabek maintains his cool focus, looking Yuri up and down once more. It makes Yuri’s skin prickle. “You’re not straight,” he eventually says.

 

“Duh,” Yuri quips, but he can feel his hackles raising at the actual implication. Otabek must be trying to rile him up on purpose, his splits are _always_ perfect. Otabek nods his head at Yuri’s legs and Yuri follows the other boy’s gaze to see - to his horror - that his split is about fifteen degrees off parallel. He scowls and forces his legs wider.

 

The jolt of pain that radiates from his ass at the movement has him biting down on a whimper. He manages to stop himself from making a noise - just - but he knows he hasn’t managed to stop his expression contorting.

 

Otabek notices immediately. “Does that hurt?” His voice is laced with concern. Yuri hates it. He scowls back up at the older boy and spreads his legs even wider in response.

  
“I’m fine,” he bites out, ignoring the sharp stabs of pain that are coursing along his body in all directions.

 

Otabek frowns, and not one of his standard ‘this is just how my face looks’ frowns, but an actual look of disappointment. It worms its way under Yuri’s skin, and he’s forced to break eye contact, shaking his head and looking down at the floor.

 

“Yuri, don’t lie to me.”

 

Yuri gives a small huff of defeat. There’s no way he can go up against that tone. He finds he doesn’t even want to, not really. “I can’t … it’s too much for my ass today,” he admits, shame coloring his cheeks. His first challenge, one of his first real commands from Otabek, and he can’t even follow through properly. He squeezes his eyes closed angrily, as if he can shut out the disgust he’s feeling at himself that way.

 

He feels a hand stroke along his head, gentle fingers tangling in his jaw-length hair. “Thank you for telling me Yuri, I’m proud of you.”

 

Yuri can’t help it, he leans into the touch, letting it wash over the hurt he’s feeling like a balm. “I can do it normally, better than this even. I’ll show you,” he says, not sure whether he’s trying to convince Otabek or himself.

 

“I know you can, you’re the most flexible skater on the circuit.” Otabek’s voice is calm, soothing, and Yuri lets himself take the reassurances Otabek is offering him, just for now.

 

The fingers card through his hair once more, and then they tighten roughly. Yuri gives a small gasp of surprise as Otabek tugs back on his hair, forcing Yuri to look up at him.

 

“Don’t ever lie to me Yuri,” he says. His gaze his piercing, and his tone is doing terrible things to Yuri’s body. He can feel himself swelling in response. He shakes his head roughly in agreement, not even caring that his arousal is fully on display.

 

“Never,” he says, utterly sincere for once in his life.

 

Otabek loosens his grip and cards his hand though Yuri’s hair one more time before letting go completely. “Okay, back to kneeling for you then.”

 

Yuri slides his legs in front of him and shuffles himself around until he’s back on his shins, his ass resting gently on his heels. He takes a moment to make sure he’s got his balance - repositioning himself with his arms tied behind his back is harder than it looks - and then spreads his knees apart, keeping his feet tucked closely together underneath him.

 

Otabek gives a small chuckle. “So you did understand me correctly the first time, I knew it.”

 

Yuri flushes a deep red, embarrassed to be called out so obviously, but he smirks and raises an eyebrow at Otabek nonetheless. “Are you going to punish me?” he challenges.

 

Otabek laughs again, “Well I guess that all depends on how you feel about what’s coming next.” His voice dips low, full of promise, and Yuri feels even more blood rush down to between his legs.

 

“What…what’s coming next?” Yuri asks, hating the way that his voice is practically shaking in anticipation.

 

Otabek gives another predatory grin and reaches over his head to drag off his t-shirt, revealing chiseled abs that Yuri decides he would very much like to taste.

 

“Well, my Yura, now...” Otabek says, throwing his shirt over his shoulder and taking a step forward to crouch down in front of Yuri. Their faces are mere centimeters apart, eyes completely level. Yuri thinks he wouldn’t be able to look away even if he wanted to, and he very much does not want to. He feels like he could drown in Otabek’s gaze if given half a chance. Otabek reaches out to stroke along Yuri’s jawline, soft and claiming, and Yuri practically melts. He sees Otabek open his mouth as if in slow motion, and feels the anticipation envelop him. Whatever Otabek suggests, he knows he’s going to love it.

 

“Now… I’m going to work out,” Otabek finishes, his voice switching from deep and seductive to bright and airy in an instant. He pulls his hand back from Yuri’s face, using it to push off his thighs and stand up. He takes a big step backwards and sinks down into a sit-up position before Yuri’s brain catches up with the situation.

 

“You’re going to what?!” Yuri yelps in surprise. He strains at his bonds and almost completely loses his balance as he writhes indignantly. “What the hell do you mean, _you’re going to work out?_ ”

 

Otabek starts lazily stretching his arms across his chest. “It’s Tuesday afternoon, that means it’s time for body conditioning.” He raises a questioning eyebrow at Yuri, a picture of innocence that Yuri doesn’t buy for an instant. “That’s why I only had a morning session on the ice … you didn’t know?”

 

“Do I fucking look like I was expecting to spend the afternoon watching you do sit-ups?” Yuri practically seethes, still fighting against his bonds. He’s going to kill Otabek, he’s going to smack that smug grin right off his smug face.

 

It doesn’t occur to him for a second to use the escape cord still tucked tightly in his palm.

 

Otabek gives another wicked grin, and bends his arm over his shoulder, pressing down on his elbow to lengthen the stretch. For a moment Yuri completely forgets to struggle, finding himself distracted by the way Otabek’s muscles flex and ripple.

 

“I don’t want you to just watch me, I want you to count for me.” Otabek shuffles forward on his ass until his feet are wedged in-between Yuri’s knees. “A hundred to start,” he says simply, before dropping back into his first sit-up.

 

He leans back until his back almost touches the floor, then pulses up again, bringing his face mere inches away from Yuri’s. He holds his position for a moment, eyes alight as Yuri struggles to remember how to breathe. “One…” he prompts teasingly.

 

“O...one,” Yuri replies haltingly, half of his brain stuck processing exactly how he ended up in this situation.

 

“Well done,” Otabek praises softly, before dipping back down again.

 

Otabek is incredibly fit - all professional athletes have to be - but by fifty he’s starting to work up a sweat. Yuri is hypnotized by the small beads of moisture running along his hairline and down his neck, glistening along his chest. He’s panting heavily, puffing hot breaths of air into Yuri’s face every time he sits up, and Yuri finds himself tipping forward every time Otabek drops away, chasing the connection.

 

At sixty-five Yuri can feel his self-control wavering, Otabek is so tauntingly close, and yet so far away. He can tell that if Otabek were to crunch just a little farther forward their lips would be touching, but the older boy is making a point of stopping himself mere millimeters away from Yuri each time. Yuri is achingly hard, and he knows Otabek has noticed. Its torture, sweet and unending.

 

At seventy-five his self-control snaps completely. Really, it’s a miracle that he made it this far at all. As Otabek sits up for the seventy-sixth time he rises on his haunches to meet him, smashing their lips together at the apex of the move. He feels the soft press of Otabek’s mouth, tastes the salty sweat on his upper lip, and for an instant time stands still.

 

Otabek pauses, giving the kiss life for just a beat, then quickly pulls away. Yuri whines and tries to follow him, completely overbalancing in the process. He feels firm hands catch his shoulders and right him, and he looks up, up, up to see Otabek’s disappointed face staring down at him from where the other boy is now standing.

 

“Yuri, yuri, yuri,” Otabek tuts disapprovingly. “Did I say you could touch?”

 

Yuri whines, unable to form words when all he can think about is the lingering taste of Otabek on his lips.

 

“Answer me, Yuri,” Otabek’s voice is firm, and Yuri finds himself responding without thinking.

 

“No. I’m sorry Otabek,” he says, then snaps his mouth shut with an audible clack. Did he really just apologize? He can’t remember the last time he apologized for anything.

 

Otabek’s cold exterior falters for just an instant, and Yuri can see amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. He locks it down quickly though, his hard demeanor firmly back in place. Without saying anything he steps forward and slots his hands underneath Yuri’s armpits. Yuri yelps in surprise as Otabek effortlessly lifts him up, twisting him around so that he’s now facing the wall. “You’ll have to stay like that for the rest of my set, since you clearly can’t be trusted.”

 

Yuri feels Otabek settle down behind him, feet planted on the outside of his legs this time. He hears Otabek grunt and then feels warmth press against his back as Otabek crunches forward, his head fitting just over Yuri’s left shoulder. It’s only there for an instant before Otabek falls away again, and Yuri desperately twists his body to watch.

 

“Eyes forward,” Otabek chides, and Yuri snaps his gaze back to the wall. He feels another flash of warmth, gone far too soon, and then Otabek’s voice again. “Aren’t you supposed to be counting?”

 

By the time they reach a hundred, Yuri is a mess. His senses are on high alert, trying to make up for his lack of vision by overwhelming him with sound, smell and touch. He’s pretty sure he can map out every inch of Otabek’s chest solely from the imprints it’s left on his back, warm patches that refuse to fade even after the contact has passed. He desperately wants to drag his tongue through the glistening sweat that he just knows is clinging to the other boy’s skin right now, and he knows Otabek’s grunts of exertion are going to fill his dreams for many nights to come.

 

There’s a silence that fills the room as Otabek completes his final sit-up, holding the position so that his chest is pressed flush to Yuri’s back and his chin is over his shoulder. Yuri can feel the harsh rise and fall against his back, and his cock seems to swell impossibly harder with every exhale. He whimpers softly and thrusts his hips twice, hoping that Otabek will get the message. He can’t wait any longer, he’s about to burst.

 

When Otabek gives no indication of moving Yuri resorts to pleading. “Otabek...Otabek please,” he whines plaintively. “I’m so hard, please Otabek.” He knows he sounds desperate, but he doesn’t care because he _is_ desperate. He’s pretty sure at this moment he would trade his custom black skates in exchange for Otabek’s hand on his dick.

 

He feels Otabek grin, and place a soft kiss against the juncture of his neck. The touch sends lightning bolts shooting through Yuri’s body. “Ok, turn around for me, then.”

 

Yuri shuffles round on his knees, not even caring how ungainly he looks maneuvering with his hands behind his back. While he’s turning round he hears Otabek stand up, which means he has to crane his neck upwards to meet the other boy’s gaze once he’s finished moving. He’s breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling almost in time with Otabek’s despite not having actually done any exercise.

 

Otabek simply stares down at him, expression unreadable. The pause is so long Yuri’s almost about to start full-on begging when he finally speaks. “Lean back, rest your weight on your arms.”

 

Yuri hurries to comply, tipping his head back and arching his spine so that his body is bowed. It’s a stretch on his muscles, but a good one. He can probably hold this pose indefinitely if he needs to, it’s not so different to the warm-up stretches Lilia makes him do. His dick is bobbing just above his belly, thick and eager - that bit is sort of different, he guesses.

 

Despite the change in position Otabek is still in his line of vision, and when he gives a small nod of approval Yuri feels it seep into his skin. He grins and arches his back further in response, putting all of himself proudly on show.

 

Otabek nods once more and then drops into a pushup position. His hands are on either side of Yuri’s calves and his head is right above Yuri’s dick. Yuri can’t help whining in confusion, because it looks a hell of a lot like Otabek might be about to suck him off, but that can’t possibly be right, can it?

 

As if in response Otabek dips down and licks a long stripe along Yuri’s cock, all the way from base to tip. Yuri lets out a yelp that is half surprise half pure arousal, and cants his hips upwards eagerly.

 

Otabek gives a small laugh, and waits for Yuri to get himself under control before speaking. “50 push-ups, no more no less. You are allowed to come any time between 40 and 50.” Without waiting for a response he bends his elbows, sinking effortlessly down into his first push up and taking Yuri’s cock all the way down his throat in the process.

 

The noise that tears from Yuri’s throat is almost feral. They’ve never done this before; their interactions usually limited to prep and penetration. He’s never had anybody suck his cock before, and then for Otabek to take him all the way down in one go? Yuri has to bite down hard on his bottom lip to stop himself coming there and then. The bitter taste of copper floods his mouth, and he exhales shakily as Otabek starts to push up, his entire body quivering like a leaf in the wind as the other boy slowly draws off him with a lewd pop.

 

Otabek quirks an eyebrow at Yuri, looking entirely too relaxed considering what he’s just done. “Remember to count for me,” he says almost teasingly, before sinking back down again.

 

“O- One! I- I mean, I mean two! Fuck, god-damn it Beka,” Yuri practically shouts, he can feel Otabek’s warmth enveloping him along his entire length. He has no idea how the other boy developed such a good gag reflex and quite frankly he doesn’t care, as long as he doesn’t stop what he’s doing.

 

Otabek sets up a fast and unrelenting pace, his pushups smooth and unhurried despite the fact that his oxygen intake must be severely limited. Yuri clings on to the count like it’s the only thing keeping him afloat - which to be honest it probably is. He spits out each number like it’s a curse, like it’s a chant, like it’s a prayer.

 

He reaches forty-two before he realizes he’s allowed to come.

 

Otabek is sinking down on forty-four before his body catches up with his brain and starts to unwind. He’s been holding on to his orgasm with an iron fist since the start, he can’t believe he’s finally allowed to let go.

 

Forty-five. Forty-six.

 

It feels good, it feels so damn good, but the transition is too sudden. His body can’t quite make the shift, it’s not ready to let go of his orgasm just yet.

 

Forty-seven. Forty-eight.

 

“Ah- Ah- Otabek, I- I can’t.” Something that feels strangely like panic starts to unfurl in Yuri’s chest. He’s so close, he can feel his release bubbling just under the surface. But it’s not enough, not yet, and he only has two strokes left.

 

Forty nine.

 

Otabek will stop and Yuri won’t get to come and all of this energy will have nowhere to go. It’ll eat him alive, burn him from the inside out. It’s _too-much-not-enough-too-much_.

 

Otabek sinks down for the fiftieth and final time and Yuri feels moisture prick at the corners of his eyes. “Beka, Beka _please_ ,” he whispers, feeling defeat shatter his insides as Otabek starts to draw up and off him. He scrunches his eyes shut and lets the tears fall in exhausted submission.

 

And then, at the very last minute, salvation. Otabek reaches his tip and does something _incredible_ with his tongue, flicking it around and teasing at the sensitive underside of his head, and suddenly Yuri is coming harder than he ever believed possible. Wave after wave crests inside of him, the pleasure of his release almost overshadowed by the pure relief he feels at managing to come in the nick of time. He shudders his way through his orgasm, thrusting up into Otabek’s mouth as he rides out the aftershocks. Otabek places a hand on his hip to still his movements, but keeps his mouth on him the whole way through it, sucking him dry.

 

Yuri comes back to himself when Otabek draws off him, the cool air on his wet dick thrusting him brutally back to reality. He’s panting like he’s just run a marathon, and his legs are quivering under the strain of holding himself in position. He feels one hand on his shoulder and another slip behind his back, and then Otabek is gently helping him to sit up, crooning softly as he does. Yuri isn’t quite sure what he’s saying; it’s hard to make out over the ringing in his ears.

 

The hand on his back disappears and then he feels a soft tug on his restraints as Otabek pulls on the release cord. The fabric unravels and slides off his arms to pool on the floor, and he brings his arms back in front of himself gingerly, feeling the tension in his shoulders from their unnatural pose.

 

He starts to massage his shoulders, focusing on the movement rather than on Otabek. Everything had seemed so simple just a few moments ago, but now, coming down from probably one of the best orgasms of his life, the uncertainty is starting to creep in. Usually after sex they would just bundle up in bed and fall asleep together, but it’s three in the afternoon, he’s kneeling in the middle of Otabek’s living room rather than lying in his bed, and he’s not even sure if what they just did counts as sex since he’s the only one who got off.

 

“So...that was fun,” he quips, hurriedly trying to bring his utterly decimated walls back up. He pushes himself up to standing and starts hunting around for his clothes, still avoiding eye contact with Otabek. “I should probably be getting back, lots to do ya know?” he mumbles as he ducks under the table to retrieve his jeans.

 

“Yuri.” Otabek’s voice is still ringing with that tone that makes Yuri’s knees go weak. He freezes and slowly turns around, one hand clutching his jeans to his chest like a security blanket. Otabek takes a slow, deliberate step towards him, hand outstretched like he’s trying to approach a frightened cat. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

Yuri opens his mouth to argue, but the tug of drying semen on his belly is getting harder to ignore, and Otabek’s expression is veering dangerously close to pleading. Plus it would be awfully nice to be close to Otabek again, the air is cold and unwelcoming without the other boy near him.

 

Still, it doesn’t do to appear too eager, so Yuri makes a show of rolling his eyes before taking a step forward, placing his hand gently in Otabek’s outstretched one. The smile that Otabek gives him is practically blinding, and makes Yuri feel strangely warm and fuzzy inside.

 

Otabek leads Yuri into the bathroom, and gently but firmly seats him on the edge of the bath as he runs the water. He holds his hand under the tap until he’s happy with the temperature, then squeezes a healthy dollop of bubbles under the running stream. It smells sweet and refreshing, like strawberries.

 

“I really don’t need all of this,” Yuri says, feeling awkward as he watches the water rise. It seems like a lot of effort for Otabek to go to, especially considering the other boy didn’t even come.   

 

“Well I do, so humor me, okay?” Otabek replies, twisting to smile at Yuri. “Okay, I think we’re all set. Hop in.”

 

Yuri climbs into the bathtub, hissing in pleasure as the slightly too warm water envelops him. He sinks down so that only his head is above the water, relishing the sensation. He cracks one eye open to see Otabek crouched down next to the bath, washcloth in hand.

 

“Aren’t you going to join me?” he asks.

 

“Do you want me to join you?”

 

“Is that supposed to be a trick question or something?” Yuri sits up and shuffles forward so that there’s space behind him for another body. “Get in, idiot.”

 

Otabek chuckles but does as Yuri says, sliding his legs on either side of Yuri and reaching one arm around his waist to draw him close. Yuri hums happily and lets himself be manhandled, enjoying the wet press of their skin.

 

Otabek dips the washcloth in the water and starts to gently rub it across Yuri’s belly, cleaning off the remains of his release in long, even swipes. “I can do that myself, you know,” Yuri mutters, feeling utterly redundant even as a part of him preens at the attention.

 

“I know you can,” Otabek replies simply, continuing with his gentle ministrations. Yuri accepts defeat - all things considered he hadn’t really put up much of a fight to begin with - and relaxes back against Otabek’s chest, eyes slipping closed as he bathes in the feeling of being utterly cared for.

 

“Would you really have done it?” he asks after a few minutes, when the silence starts to get boring.

 

“Would I really have done what?” Otabek replies, his hands moving up to start massaging Yuri’s shoulders.

 

“Would you really have not let me come?” Yuri cracks an eye open and twists his head to stare mournfully up at Otabek. “Would you really have left me like that if I hadn’t come by fifty?”

 

Otabek gives another laugh and dips his head to press a kiss to the tip of Yuri’s nose. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t have to find out?”

 

* * *

 

Later, much later, when they’re both completely pruned by the water, Otabek gets out of the bath first and grabs the two fluffy towels hanging on the radiator. He wraps one around his waist and then holds the other one out to Yuri, spread wide and inviting. Usually Yuri would hiss and spit at the frankly condescending gesture, but today has been anything but a usual day so he climbs out of the bath and lets Otabek embrace him with the towel without argument.

 

He lets Otabek dry him off, and then they both get dressed and head back out to the sofa, where immediately Yuri curls up with his head on Otabek’s lap, not even thinking twice about the intimate gesture after everything they’ve done together this afternoon. He feels the jolt of surprise run through Otabek’s body, and then fingers gently start to card through his hair. He practically purrs at the sensation, and works to burrow himself even further into Otabek’s lap.

 

It takes a while, but eventually Yuri finds it in him to ask the question that’s been eating at him since Otabek first suggested they try this whole BDSM thing out. He’s been fighting with himself about whether to even bring it up at all, but right now, with his head in Otabek’s lap and his fingers in his hair, he feels safe enough to ask.

 

“Otabek?” he says hesitantly.

 

“Mmm hmm?” Otabek replies, voice relaxed and sleepy.

 

“What do...what do you get out of this?”

 

The fingers in Yuri’s hair still and Yuri tenses up, afraid that he’s somehow killed the moment, killed what they’re doing together before they’ve even really begun.

 

A finger slips underneath Yuri’s chin and gently turns his head so that he’s staring up at Otabek. The other boy’s expression is so warm, so tender, that it almost hurts. “Isn’t it obvious?” Otabek asks. “I get to see you like this. I’m probably the only person in the world you’ll let do that. That’s pretty fucking incredible if you ask me.”

 

Yuri twists away, burrowing his face back into Otabek’s lap so that the other boy can’t see the blush that’s sprung up on his cheeks. “That’s dumb,” he says, his words completely at odds with his pleased tone. Otabek laughs and curls down to press a soft kiss to Yuri’s forehead.

 

“If you say so,” he says fondly.

 

They stay curled up together on the sofa for the rest of the afternoon. At some point Otabek switches the television on and they both absently watch reruns of some old sitcom. Yuri isn’t really concentrating - the feeling of having Otabek underneath him is much more interesting anyway- but it’s nice to have the background noise. He’s never been much good with silence.

 

When the sun dips low in the sky and the room finally gets dark enough for them to need to switch on some lamps, Yuri feels Otabek stir. He lifts his head just enough for Otabek to slip off the couch, and then sits up properly when the lights flick on. He yawns and stretches, his body feeling heavy and sleepy. Otabek pauses on the other side of the room to watch. “Will you stay for dinner?” he asks, hopeful.

 

“Can’t, I’m having dinner with my grandpa tonight,” Yuri replies without really thinking about what he’s saying, then freezes as he sees a flash of disappointment flicker across Otabek’s features. He frowns, suddenly unsure. Should he offer to stay? He’s never been in a relationship before - he knows they’re not boyfriends, but it feels like they’ve moved past simple fuckbuddy status - he doesn’t know what’s expected of him.

 

“I mean...I could try and rearrange?” he offers hesitantly, feeling completely out of his depth.

 

The disappointment on Otabek’s face is quickly replaced by confusion, and then just as swiftly with fondness. He grins and heads back over to the sofa, dipping down and pressing two fingers underneath Yuri’s chin to turn his head up into a swift kiss. “Don’t be silly Yura, I’d never ask you to cancel on your grandpa like that.” Another quick kiss. “I’ll just have to make my famed Borscht for you some other time.”

 

Yuri lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, and snatches another kiss from Otabek before pushing him away so he can stand up. “Easy there Altin, I know what your kitchen skills are like,” he teases. “But...um...I probably should actually get going, it’s getting late.”

 

Otabek nods, and walks with Yuri and he heads to the door. “Make sure you get an early night tonight, what we did today will have worn you out more than you expect,” he advises, unlocking the door and holding it open for Yuri.

 

Yuri rolls his eyes, “Yes sir,” he says sarcastically.

 

Otabek grins. “You know, I could get used to that,” he teases.

 

Yuri huffs and shoves his shoulder in response, slipping out the door and heading down the corridor to the exit.

 

He gets three steps away from Otabek’s apartment before he changes his mind, whipping round and managing to get his hand in the way before Otabek closes the door on him. Otabek opens the door again, looking confused. “Did you forget something?” he asks.

 

Yuri doesn’t give himself enough time to second guess his actions. He stands on tiptoes and kisses Otabek on the cheek.

 

“Just that. See you at the rink.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri and Otabek have a lot of first times together. Some of them are good, some less so.

The first time Yuri lands a quad lutz in practice, they celebrate by making katsudon piroshki at Otabek’s apartment. They get rice all over the floor and dough all over the walls because Otabek is an _incredibly_ distracting sous-chef and keeps sneaking up behind Yuri and kissing his neck while he’s trying to cook.

 

The first few times it happens Yuri bats him away with his wooden spoon, grumbling at him to behave or get out. Otabek does neither of these things - which Yuri is secretly pleased about even as he grumbles louder - and eventually even Yuri’s willpower of steel starts to crumble. They end up with Yuri perched on one of the counters, legs wrapped tightly around Otabek’s waist and hands fisted in his hair as the other boy fucks up into him with determined purpose.

 

The first batch of piroshkis are burnt to a crisp by the time they finally remember to take them out of the oven, but it’s totally worth it.

 

They just about manage to restrain themselves for long enough to taste the second batch - piping hot right out of the oven, both of them too impatient to wait for them to cool - before Otabek scoops Yuri up and carries him into the bedroom, completely ignoring the token protests from Yuri at being picked up.

 

Otabek introduces Yuri to edging that night. Yuri decides he likes edging. A lot. By the time Otabek finally lets him come Yuri is a complete mess, and it’s a good fifteen minutes before he comes back to himself.

 

He finds himself with his head pillowed on Otabek’s chest, the other boy running his fingers through his hair while whispering sweet nothings at him. Yuri just about catches the end of one sentence “... so good for me,” and he scowls and bites at Otabek’s nipple in response.

 

Otabek jumps in surprise, then hugs Yuri closer to him. “Welcome back,” he says into his hairline.

 

* * *

 

The first time _Otabek_ lands a quad lutz, they celebrate with Otabek making his ‘famous’ Borscht. It tastes…pretty fucking awful and Yuri resolves to never let Otabek cook for him again.

 

He tells him it’s delicious, of course, but judging by the four - _four_ \- ruined orgasms Otabek inflicts on him that evening, he has a sneaking suspicion that Otabek knows he was lying.

 

* * *

 

The first time Yuri really appreciates the value of tax returns, it’s late evening a few weeks later and they’re both at Yuri’s apartment, his grandpa out for the evening with some friends from the local community center. Otabek is playing a taptap game on Yuri’s ipad, while Yuri is sitting at the kitchen table complaining loudly about his homework. Ever since Yakov found out about some of Victor’s more - frivolous - spending habits, he’s forced all of his students to take a finance management course. It’s dry, and boring, and pointless because Yuri is going to make so much more than Nikiforov by the end of his career that even Victor and Chris _combined_ wouldn’t be able to make a dent in his earnings.

 

Yakov had laughed at him when he had tried to make that argument though, and shoved him roughly out of his office while muttering something about irresponsible, ungrateful ducklings.

 

Which is how Yuri finds himself sitting trying to decipher the mess that is Russian taxes rather than doing something much more interesting - ideally with the very handsome man sitting on the sofa just a few feet away from him.

 

Yuri throws his pen down on the table with a loud huff. Otabek doesn’t seem to notice so he picks it up again and throws it down harder, sighing even louder. This causes Otabek to raise an eyebrow at him at least, but it’s only for a moment before he’s back to concentrating on his game.

 

Yuri picks up his stack of books and drops them on the floor. It’s a sizeable pile and it makes a loud bang when it hits the hardwood floor. Otabek jumps, his head whipping towards the source of the noise. Yuri stands up and walks around the front of the table so he’s sure he’s in Otabek’s eyeline, sprawling himself along the length of the table.

 

“I’m bored,” he says petulantly.

 

Otabek’s eyes flick from Yuri to the stack of books on the floor, and then back again.

 

“You should pick those up,” he says, his voice low and full of promise.

 

“Make me.”

 

Which is how Yuri finds himself bent over the table, tiger print leggings around his ankles and Otabek’s hand fisted in his hair, his firm grasp holding Yuri’s face inches away from his textbook as he makes him recite the various sponsorship tax laws in between high, breathless gasps. Otabek fucks him halfway across the table with every thrust, and Yuri comes somewhere between qualified payments and charitable exemptions.

 

He’s never going to be able to look at taxes in the same way again.

 

* * *

 

The first time they explore punishment is when Yuri has a bad day on the ice, and somehow ends up taking it out on other Yuuri. He knows the older man is just trying to be supportive, a show of solidarity when Yuri completely falls apart during a run-through of his short program, but it feels like he’s burning up inside and he feels completely undeserving of Katsudon’s attention.

 

So, as is his wont, he makes himself undeserving of it.

 

“Fuck off pig, just because you crashed and burned at the Grand Prix finals doesn’t mean the rest of us will.”

 

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. Yuri might be a mouthy little shit, but even he knows that there are some things that are off limits. Yuuri Katsuki’s performance at the 2015 Grand Prix finals is at the very top of that list.

 

He can feel the shocked silence ripple across the ice, hear the scrape of blades as every skater stops to watch this car crash unfold. He can see the exact moment that Katsuki shatters, his face falling and his shoulder slumping.

 

“I...ah...you’re right, I just meant...but of course you don’t need me to … I’ll just go,” Katsuki stammers, voice little more than a whisper, and he immediately spins on his skates and heads for the rink gate.

 

Yuri means to call after him, to apologize. He opens his mouth to do just that but instead what comes out is, “That’s right, run on back to Victor like you always do.”

 

He hears a gasp from somewhere across the ring, probably Mila, and he feels his face flush red with shame.

  
“Yuri.” He doesn’t know how long Otabek has been behind him, but the disappointment in the older boy’s voice is almost unbearable. He whips round, eyes blazing and fists clenched, apparently not finished with self-destructing just yet.

 

“What are you looking at?” he says, voice shaking with rage.

 

“Yuri, calm down,” Otabek says, his voice so placid it only serves to rile Yuri up even further. He digs his toe picks in and stomps his way over to Otabek, crowding into his space and jabbing angrily at his chest with the point of his finger.

 

“Don’t you ever, _ever_ try to give me orders on the ice, Altin,” he hisses, all rationality lost to the white hot rage that has taken over his body.

 

“Plisetsky, you’re done for the day.” Yakov’s voice cuts through the stunned silence of the rink, and Yuri doesn’t need telling twice. He needs to get off the ice, get away from people, before he does something idiotic like burst into tears.

 

He resolutely ignores the stares of his teammates as he leaves the ice, especially Katsudon, who is still fumbling with his laces at the side of the rink.

 

Four hours later he’s curled up on the sofa, wallowing in self-pity, when he hears Otabek’s telltale knock on the door. He considers ignoring it, but then the knock comes again, this time more insistent.

 

When he opens the door Otabek enters without being invited, without even saying hello. He walks into the middle of the room, and then turns to face Yuri. “Yuri Plisetsky, you were terrible to Yuuri today,” He says simply.

 

“Hello to you too,” Yuri snarks back, crossing his arms infront of him defensively. He knows, _he knows_ , that he was an utter ass today, but like hell is he going to admit it.

 

“Don’t do that Yuri, not with me,” Otabek says, and his voice is so open, so honest, that Yuri’s resolve starts to crumble. Just a tiny amount, just one brick in a wall that’s a mile high, but it’s enough that Otabek notices. He nods and reaches down to unbuckle his belt, sliding it slowly through the loops of his jeans.

 

Yuri’s scoffs loudly, clenching his arms tighter around himself as if he can stop everything he's feeling from leaking out of him through sheer force of will. “I know we're pretty insatiable, but in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not really in the mood for sex,” he snarks, silently daring Otabek to disagree.

 

Otabek doesn't say anything, just slowly folds the belt in half, his movements exaggerated and obvious. He holds the buckle and the tail in one hand and slaps the middle of the belt against the palm of his other hand lightly.

 

Yuri eyes widen and he takes a step backwards, his back brushing up against the doorframe behind him. He's angry - mostly at himself - and hurting, and now he's confused on top of everything else. “What the hell Otabek?”

 

“You tell me red, I’ll leave right now and never bring it up again. But if you tell me green, you’re mine for the evening.”

 

Understanding flashes through Yuri like lightning, as well as something that feels strangely like relief. Yuri had put punishment as a yes on his list of kinks, but he’d been a little unsure about how he would react when actually confronted with the reality of it. Would he balk at the idea? Would it all just seem silly, feel too staged?

 

He stares unblinkingly at Otabek, who stares right back, still tapping the belt lightly against his palm as he gives Yuri all the time he needs to process. Yuri is suddenly reminded of how this all started between them, of just how much he had wanted to hurt when he threw himself at Otabek’s dick and tried to fuck all that pain and self-loathing away. Would he have tried to do the same thing again now, if Otabek hadn’t stepped in after the last time? Would he currently be tearing himself apart - possibly quite literally - in his quest to make this horrible weight inside his chest go away?

 

His focus narrows in on the belt still tap, tap, tapping against Otabek’s palm, a physical manifestation of what Otabek is offering him. He trusts Otabek, more than he trusts himself most of the time. He knows that Otabek will look after him, will offer him the chance to pay for his mistakes and make sure he’s still able to get back out on the ice tomorrow.

 

And _fuck_ , if that doesn’t sound appealing. The idea of handing himself over to Otabek, to be punished exactly as much as he sees fit?  He’ll take everything Otabek gives him, replace the vise that’s clenching at his heart with the sweet simplicity of physical pain, and then at the end of it all he’ll be told that everything is okay, that he’s forgiven.

 

Yuri’s knees hit the floor before his brain even registers what his body is doing. He wants it, wants it more than he thinks he’s ever wanted anything in his life. His entire focus has narrowed in on the promise of pain. Of atonement. Of forgiveness.

 

“Green, please Otabek. It’s green.”

 

Otabek folds him over his lap and lays red stripe after red stripe along Yuri’s bared ass, making sure to never hit the same point twice. The pain is so sharp, so clean, so pure, that when Yuri feels wetness slide down his cheek and catch on the edge of his lips it’s almost a surprise. He licks at the saltiness of his tears and turns his face into the soft fabric of the sofa underneath him, letting his body go lax as Otabek lays claim to it again and again.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he starts chanting it like a prayer, to Otabek, to Katsudon, to the air around them. It’s a catharsis unlike anything he’s ever felt.

 

Afterwards Otabek rubs cool aloe vera into the skin he’s just abused, fingers gentle even as every touch makes Yuri hiss in pain. “The sting will be mostly gone by morning,” he assures Yuri as he helps the other boy sit up gingerly.

 

Yuri gives a long sigh, all of the anger, all of the defensiveness expunged from his body, leaving only tiredness. “It’s okay, I deserve it.”

 

“Deserved,” Otabek clarifies. Yuri’s not entirely sure he understands the distinction but he’s too emotionally drained to argue.

 

He apologizes to Katsuki the next day, right in the middle of the rink in front of all of their teammates. It’s embarrassing, and Yuri almost backs out at least three times. It’s only when Otabek places a hand on his back and pushes him practically into the other skater that he finally works up the nerve.

 

The smile that Katsuki gives him in response is almost blinding, and Yuri yelps in surprise as he’s swept up into a bone-crushing hug from Victor - that man has the ability to materialize out of thin air, Yuri swears.

 

“Look Yuuri, our boy is growing up,” Victor coos as he scrubs at Yuri’s hair. Yuri hisses and spits and wriggles out of his grasp.

 

“Get off me, old man,” he says, but there’s no bite to his voice, he’s too relieved at having been forgiven.

 

Otabek skates up next to him as soon as Victor and Katsudon leave. “Well done,” he says simply. Somehow that’s even better.

 

* * *

 

The first time Yuri realizes Otabek is ticklish is when they’re curled up in bed after a particularly _active_ few rounds. They’re both exhausted, Yuri propped up against the headboard and Otabek resting his head in Yuri’s lap. Every so often he’ll turn and nuzzle Yuri’s soft cock, but neither of them are in any particular rush to go again.

 

Yuri closes his eyes and allows himself to bask in the moment. It’s one of the rare days they both have off and they’ve taken full advantage of it. The sun is shining, the bed is warm, and Otabek’s breathing is evening out as he starts to doze. Yuri thinks that this is the happiest he’s been in a very long time.

 

He strokes his fingers lightly along Otabek’s side, from shoulder to just below his ribs and back again. Otabek shivers at the touch, his face scrunching up adorably and Yuri decides he has to see that look again. He dances his fingers along Otabek’s skin with a little more pressure, and grins in delight as Otabek tenses up just as his fingers trip over his bottom rib.

 

“Otabek, are you ticklish by any chance?” Yuri asks, not even bothering to hide his glee at this revelation.

 

“....No,” comes the entirely unconvincing response.

 

“Oh, so you won’t mind it I do _this_?” Yuri teases, digging his fingers into the soft skin of Otabek’s side. The older boy yelps and arches away from Yuri’s touch.

 

“Yuuuuuuri, I was almost asleep.” Otabek whines, contorting his body in truly impressive ways to avoid Yuri’s fingers.

 

“Awww, i’m sorry,” Yuri replies, not sorry at all, as he engages his other hand to attack Otabek’s undefended far side.

 

They end up with Yuri pinned underneath Otabek, the other boy straddling his hips and clasping his hands above his head. “Now, are you going to behave?” Otabek asks with a pained tone, voice breathless from their tussle.

 

“When have I ever done that?” Yuri asks innocently.

 

* * *

 

The first time Yuri safewords is when everything gets too much. Otabek has him tied spread eagle on the bed, and is working his way up and down Yuri’s body, alternating kisses and praise in equal measure.

 

“So strong, so powerful.”

 

Yuri lets his eyes flutter closed as the words wash over him, soothing like a summer breeze. His body is primed, every inch of him reacting to the praise. He feels Otabek’s lips caress over his hipbone and he shivers, arching up into the touch.

 

“...So perfect...”

 

Yuri unwittingly tenses, the summer breeze turning to an arctic gust in an instant. He’s not perfect, not by a long shot. It took him three tries to land his quad toe loop today, and his transitions were all over the place.

 

“...So good…”

 

No, that’s not right either, he’s not good, he never has been. He’s mouthy and annoying and if he was good then maybe he wouldn’t spend his life being shouted at to be _better_.

 

“...So beautiful…”

 

Yuri feels a tear trickle down his face. He used to be, he used to be the Russian fairy, almost ethereal in his beauty. He used to enrapture audiences with his grace, win golds at Grand Prix’s through his presentation marks alone. Then his body betrayed him, now he’s only good for bronze.

 

“Yellow.” The word is barely more than a whisper. But immediately Otabek stops touching him. He whines at the loss, that’s not what he wanted to happen at all. He liked the kisses, the kisses were good, he just wanted the lies to stop.  

 

“Yuri?” He feels Otabek’s hand cup his cheek and his eyes fly open. Otabek is hovering above him, expression concerned. “Do you need to take a break?”

 

Yuri shakes his head roughly, feeling wetness on his cheeks. “No, I don’t want to stop...I just...not that.” Otabek’s brow furrows in confusion and Yuri lets out a little whine of frustration. Otabek is supposed to know what he needs, why can’t he see this?

 

“I’m not … I’m not good, I’m not beautiful, I’m _not,_ ” he whines, eyes wide as he silently begs Otabek to understand.

 

He sees comprehension flicker in Otabek’s eyes, followed by something that looks like pain. Yuri doesn’t understand, doesn’t like the idea that he’s hurt Otabek (bad, bad, very bad) so he closes his eyes and twists his head away.

 

“Oh Yuri,” he hears Otabek say, feels fingers brush lightly against his cheek.

 

He feels Otabek shift his weight, moving himself further down the bed. He feels him press a trail of kisses along his sternum. “Thank you for telling me, you’re so brave,” he says in between kisses. Yuri wriggles, feeling some of the tension leave him. Brave isn’t so bad, he supposes.

 

“You’re so strong.” Kiss “So defiant.” Kiss. “So breathtakingly alive.” Kiss. Yuri’s body starts to uncoil with every exaltation, starts to believe the words of praise that Otabek is showering on him.

 

“So sexy.” Otabek reaches his left hip and bites softly against the bone. Yuri yelps and jerks away from the sting. “So responsive.” Another bite, this time against his other hip. Yuri can barely hear him over the blood pulsing in his ears.

 

He feels Otabek shift his weight and then his breath is ghosting across his dick, still straining against his abdomen despite everything. “All mine,” Otabek growls approvingly, and Yuri’s vision whites out, his mouth opening in a silent scream as Otabek takes him all the way down in one go.

 

By the time Yuri comes back down Otabek has untied his restraints and bundled him up in his arms. Otabek’s fingers trace along his spine, smooth and unhurried, and his lips press against his hairline. The soft rumbles of his voice vibrate through Yuri’s body as he speaks a constant litany of praise. Yuri’s still riding the high of his orgasm so it’s hard to pick out the majority of the words, but ‘good’ rings out loud and clear above their mingled breathing.

 

It doesn’t feel so bad this time. In fact, Yuri thinks as he burrows himself further into Otabek’s side, he kind of likes it.

 

* * *

 

The first time Otabek reveals his inner nerd is when the newest Star Wars movie comes out. There’s a midnight screening advertised at their local cinema, and Yuri mentions it to Otabek as a joke, expecting Otabek to laugh along with him at the eagerness of fans.

 

Somehow he ends up in the line at 11:45 instead, with Otabek next to him giving Yuri a rundown of all the pertinent plot points he might need to know. Yuri rolls his eyes at Otabek’s enthusiasm, but doesn’t dare say anything that might knock the innocent look of wonder off his face - it’s too adorable really.

 

They arrived a little bit (read: three hours) too late to get good seats, so they end up wedged in the corner of the very back row. Yuri jokes that these are perfect makeout seats, and is rewarded by a horrified look from Otabek. Apparently the idea of not giving Star Wars his full attention is no joking matter.

 

For all his mocking, Yuri ends up enraptured. The visuals, the emotional heart, the epic battle at the end; it’s all completely mesmerizing. They both leave starry eyed and Yuri demands that Otabek show him all of the other films right this very second.

 

Of course, it’s three am by this point and they both have training at seven, so common sense wins out - just - and the next free day they both have is dubbed ‘marathon day’. They set up camp in Otabek’s apartment with popcorn, fizzy drinks, and all nine movies lined up in viewing order. Otabek debates for a long while about release order versus episode order, eventually deciding on something called ‘Machete order’, while Yuri smiles and nods along, not quite understanding why it’s such a big deal but appreciating Otabek’s intense commitment to Yuri having the best viewing experience possible.

 

It’s all a bit redundant, however, as Yuri dozes off with his head in Otabek’s lap - it’s been a long week and Otabek is _very_ comfy - and ends up sleeping through the entire ‘Darth Vader is Luke’s father’ reveal. He’s not sure Otabek will ever quite forgive him for that.

 

* * *

 

The first time Yuri actually seeks Otabek out before things get completely out of hand is when he finds himself alone in the changing rooms, still rubbing the chamois along the edge of his jet black blades long after they’re clean and dry. It’s almost an hour after practice, all the other skaters left at least half an hour ago, but Yuri’s mind is still out on the ice.

 

He’s replaying his last run through of his short program over and over in his head. It had been a good run, Yakov had declared it the best he’d seen to date, but Yuri knows it’s not good enough, not yet. It won’t get him gold, will barely get him on the podium. Every jump, every switch, every gesture. It’s all not right, not enough or too much or just plain _wrong_.

 

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

 

He finds himself wavering outside his apartment door, key motionless in the lock. He can go inside now, pretend that everything is fine to his grandpa, have an early dinner with him and then spend the rest of the evening wallowing inside his own head.

 

Or…

 

Otabek opens the door on the third knock, looking confused as he takes in Yuri on the doorstep, fidgeting anxiously from one foot to the other.

 

“Did we have plans?” he asks, sounding genuinely concerned that he might have forgotten something they’d organized. Yuri waves his hand dismissively, but when he opens his mouth he doesn’t know what to say.

 

“It’s all... It’s all too much,” is what he eventually comes out with. Otabek’s face breaks into the biggest grin, which makes Yuri scowl because come on, he’s in pain here. Otabek quickly rearranges his face into something more befitting the situation.

 

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just, I’m glad you came to me,” he says, stepping to the side so that Yuri can come in.

 

Otabek uses long lengths of fabric to truss Yuri up like a Christmas turkey, drawing his arms behind his back and his legs up and tying them together so he can’t move a muscle. He uses another long length to blindfold him, and then pops rubber earplugs in his ears so that everything goes silent.

 

For a moment it’s just Yuri and his thoughts, threatening to overwhelm him completely, and then Otabek starts to touch him.

 

With his senses so limited every touch is like a direct line to his brain. Otabek is patient and meticulous, using his fingers and his tongue to slowly drive every negative thought from Yuri’s brain, until all that is left is Otabek laying claim to him, body and soul.

 

Yuri loses all sense of time, it feels like days have passed before Otabek’s ministrations even think about edging closer to his ass. By the time slick fingers press against his opening he’s practically delirious with want, all thoughts of his shortcomings on the rink replaced by the hot white desire coursing through him. And by the time Otabek finally, finally, lines up and presses in, Yuri’s whole world has zeroed in on one single concept.

 

Otabek.

 

He comes with the other boy’s name on his lips, and drops harder and farther than he’s ever dropped before.

 

It takes so long for Yuri to come back to himself that Otabek actually looks relieved when Yuri starts responding to him again. “I thought I’d broken you permanently,” he says as he massages feeling back into Yuri’s limbs again.

 

“You’ll have to try harder than that,” Yuri quips, even though everything still feels a little bit fuzzy around the edges.

 

“Next time,” Otabek promises as they curl up in bed together. Yuri falls asleep to the sound of Otabek’s breathing, and for once his thoughts couldn’t be further from the ice.

 

* * *

 

The first time Yuri has to watch Otabek walk away from him, it feels like his whole world has fallen apart.

 

It’s the beginning of October, and the rink is a flurry of activity in preparation for the Rostelecom cup at the end of the month. Yuri, Georgi and Mila are all competing, and with it being the only Russian-based event this season, it feels like there’s even more pressure than usual.

 

Yakov is riding them all. Hard. Especially Yuri (or so it feels). He’s got the technical elements of his programs nailed by this point, can fly through his short program with barely a thought. Apparently that’s the problem though, because according to Yakov he’s not _feeling_ the program, whatever that means.

 

He lands his final quad of the piece and spins into his finishing pose, holding the position tight and perfect. He slows to an exact stop and breathes heavily, once, twice, three times before allowing himself to relax. He punches the air in satisfaction; a perfect run-through.

 

“No, no, _no_ .” He hears the scratch of Yakov’s blades as his coach skates up to him, then winces as the old man raps him on the head with his knuckles. “Are you asleep in there boy? Your face looks like you’re asleep. Where’s my drama? Where’s my _emotion_?”

 

Yuri wants to snap that three quads in a short program is enough drama for anybody, but since the Katsudon incident he’s become much better at keeping his cool on the ice. So he manages to hold his tongue and nod along with Yakov’s rant. Just.

 

His composure lasts until they’re all dismissed for the day and it’s just Yuri and Otabek left in the changing room; then he finally lets loose.

 

“Seriously, somebody needs to take the vodka away from the old man,” he seethes, pacing back and forth in front of the bench where Otabek is sitting. “That was a perfect run through, the technical elements were _flawless_.”

 

Otabek gives a noncommittal grunt, his attention focused on cleaning his skates rather than Yuri. If Yuri was feeling more rational he probably would notice how Otabek was even quieter than normal at today’s practice. As it is, all he can think about is how grievously he’s been wronged.

 

“Three quads! Nobody’s going to be looking at my face when I land my final jump, I can tell you that,” Yuri grumbles, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation.

 

“Maybe not, but presentation is a key part of the marking, you know that.” Otabek’s voice is quiet and neutral, but Yuri rounds on him with the full force of his fury nonetheless.

 

“You’re taking his side?!” he asks, incredulous.

 

Otabek sighs and rubs at his temples, looking suddenly exhausted. “It’s not about taking sides Yuri. All I’m saying is that Yakov knows what he’s talking about. He’s been around long enough after all.”

 

Yuri scowls and crosses his arms angrily, pissed beyond reason that Otabek isn’t supporting him in his righteous indignation. “Maybe he’s been around too long. Maybe the old man should think about retiring.”

 

“You don’t mean that.” Otabek’s voice sounds almost pained.

 

“Maybe I do.” He doesn’t. Yakov has been like another grandfather to him, he can’t imagine skating without him in the wings. But admitting that won’t help him win this argument.

 

Otabek lets out a loud cry, slapping his hands down on the bench. The noise rings through the stunned silence that follows. “Yuri, you’re so…you’re _so_....” Otabek gives another growl of frustration as he fails to articulate exactly what Yuri is. He stands up hurriedly, not making eye contact as he grabs his skates and makes for the exit.

 

“I can’t do this. Not today,” he says, more to himself than Yuri, walking out of the changing room without a backwards glance, and leaving Yuri alone with his rapidly deflating anger.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I just want to know what I did wrong,” Yuri says, his voice cracking as he’s forced to admit out loud that he might have fucked up. That he might have damaged this precious thing he and Otabek have without even realizing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the cliffhanger last chapter guys, I'm a monster I know. I hope this chapter makes up for it!

Yuri spends the rest of the afternoon fidgeting in his apartment, running over his confrontation with Otabek in his head again and again. He knows he should probably give the older boy some space, but he just can’t let it go. Sure, Yuri had been in a bit of a mood, but no worse than usual, certainly no worse than Otabek had dealt with before. Why was this the time that Otabek finally decided it was too much?

 

He slumps down on the sofa with a melodramatic sigh, scrunching his eyes closed and pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. It’s no good; his brain still replays Otabek walking away from him over and over, painted on the inside of his eyelids.

 

He sighs again, this time louder, and makes a decision. He stands up, grabbing his keys as he heads for the door. He needs to talk to Otabek. Now.

 

He’s apparently not the only one with that idea, as he reaches Otabek’s apartment just as Alina is closing the door behind her. She spots Yuri as she turns around and frowns, her expression so like her brother’s that something painful sparks in Yuri’s chest.

 

“If you’re here to give my brother a hard time…” she begins, her posture and voice defensive, ready to protect her sibling. As if she thinks he might need protecting from Yuri. Yuri waves his hand to cut her off, trying to ignore the hurt he feels at the implication.

 

“I just want to know what I did wrong,” he says, his voice cracking as he’s forced to admit out loud that he might have fucked up. That he might have damaged this precious thing he and Otabek have without even realizing it.

 

Alina’s expression softens, and she takes a step towards Yuri. Yuri tries not to flinch backwards when she gently squeezes his shoulder. “It’s nothing you did,” she says reassuringly. “Otabek’s just going through some stuff...I’ll let him explain but…” she pauses, and her expression crumples. “Look after him, okay?”

 

“Always,” Yuri promises around the lump that has suddenly formed in his throat. Alina fixes him with that stare that’s so familiar, like she’s trying to see straight through to Yuri’s soul. After a long moment she apparently decides that she’s happy with what she sees, and nods definitively, squeezing Yuri’s shoulder once more before giving him a light shove in the direction of Otabek’s door.

 

“It’s open,” she says, before disappearing down the hallway.

 

Otabek is curled up on the sofa when Yuri hesitantly opens the door. He’s almost completely buried under a heavy afghan blanket and he looks so small, so breakable. It’s so unlike the Otabek that Yuri has grown to know and love that he feels like his heart might crack right down the middle.

 

“Hi,” he says hesitantly, not sure if Otabek has noticed him. Otabek’s head pokes up from underneath the blanket, his hair sticking up in all directions like he’s been running his hands through it.

 

“Hi,” he replies.

 

The silence hangs oppressive and heavy between them. Yuri shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other. It’s never been like this between them. Never. Eventually he gestures towards the couch. “Can I?” he asks hesitantly.

 

Otabek swings his legs off the sofa to make space, so Yuri takes that as a yes and moves to sit down next to him.

 

More silence. Yuri feels like the weight of it is going to crush him. He sneaks a look at Otabek, and finds the other boy watching him over the top of the blanket. He averts his eyes hastily. He knows he should say something, but doesn’t know what. He doesn’t even know if they’re still fighting.

 

Eventually it’s Otabek who speaks first. “I’m sorry for losing my temper earlier.” He sounds so sincere, so distraught that Yuri can’t help laughing.

 

“That’s what you call losing your temper?” he says, incredulous. Otabek gives a small shrug, and Yuri lets out another slightly hysterical laugh. This at least is easy to fix.

 

“Come on dude, after all the shit I’ve pulled that you’ve had to deal with? I think you’re allowed this one.”

 

Otabek looks unconvinced. “I walked away,” he says, as if it’s the worst thing that he’s ever done.

 

Yuri shrugs, feeling infinitely lighter now that he knows Otabek isn’t mad at him. “And I’m telling you it’s fine. You’re allowed to react badly sometimes.”

 

Otabek doesn’t say anything in response, and the silence creeps in again. “Do you want to talk about it?” Yuri eventually asks when it looks like Otabek isn’t about to say anything else.

 

Otabek shrugs, and for a moment Yuri thinks he isn’t going to reply. After a weighty pause he sighs and scrubs at his face with his hand, running his fingers through his already distressed hair.

 

“Roman is retiring at the end of the season,” Otabek says, his voice thick with emotion.

 

Oh. _Oh._

 

They’ve talked about their skating careers at length, of course they have. Yuri knows that Roman Iskhakov has been Otabek’s coach for almost as long as Yakov has been Yuri’s. He’s been at Otabek’s side ever since Juniors. Yuri quickly replays their locker room conversation over in his brain, Otabek’s reaction making infinitely more sense in light of this new revelation. Yuri winces as he remembers what he said about Yakov retiring, shame scalding him like boiling water. Of all the callous, insensitive things for him to say….

 

“God Otabek, I’m so sorry,” Yuri says. Otabek waves his apology away.

  
“You didn’t know, it’s not your fault,” he says, but the sorrow in his eyes is palpable. Yuri doesn’t know what to do. He’s never been good with emotions; not his own, not other peoples. He shifts a bit closer on the sofa, wanting to comfort his friend but entirely unsure how.

 

Coaches don’t just declare that they’re leaving without warning - unless they’re Victor Nikiforov of course - Otabek has probably known this was coming for a while. Now that Yuri thinks about it, Otabek’s move to the Russian rink makes a lot more sense in light of this new information. Roman has obviously talked with Yakov about taking over his role when he retires, and he’s given Otabek this season to get used to Yakov while he’s still around to help smooth the transition. Yuri briefly wonders why Otabek didn’t say anything about this when he first arrived at the rink before he remembers, oh right, Yuri refused to speak to Otabek when he first arrived. Guilt and shame bubbles up anew, how much harder had he made everything for his friend because of his own stupid selfishness?

 

“Yakov is a great coach,” he says, the only thing his brain can think of that might be any sort of comfort.

 

Otabek gives a dry, humorless laugh. “I know that,” he says, gesturing to Yuri like that’s supposed to mean something. “Yakov is the best coach on the circuit, I’m lucky he agreed to take me on, I _know_ that…” the fire in his voice trails off. “I’m scared,” he admits, as if it’s something to be ashamed of.

 

“Roman has been with me ever since I started competing,” Otabek continues, his eyes have a faraway look and Yuri wonders if he’s really talking to him at all. He stays silent though, and lets Otabek speak. “My skating and his coaching, they’re so...connected. I don’t know what sort of skater I’ll be without him.” His eyes finally focus on Yuri and he looks so scared, so unsure.

 

“I don’t know if I can do this without him.”

 

Yuri doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know how to comfort Otabek when he knows he would be even more of a mess if Yakov ever decided to retire. He settles on the one thing that might even stand a chance of helping; the truth.

 

“Otabek, you’re amazing,” he says. Otabek gives a short huff of derision and Yuri scowls. Defeat isn’t a good look on the other boy. “I’m serious. You’re one of the best skaters on the circuit at the moment. You were _robbed_ of a medal last season, but this year you’re going to clean house, I know it.”

 

Yuri has been watching Otabek these past few months on the ice, obviously. It’s like something has awoken a fire inside the Hero of Kazakhstan, and he blazes across the ice with an intensity that not even Victor can come close to rivalling. Yuri’s 99% sure he’s not biased in his judgement either, based on the looks Otabek gets from the rest of the Russian team when he takes to the ice to practice. If Yuri wasn’t so infatuated with the boy he’d probably be worried at the competition he now presents.

 

Otabek doesn’t say anything in response, and he still looks so dejected. Yuri doesn’t know what to do, isn’t used to offering comfort to other people. He’s feels completely out of his depth as he shuffles closer on the sofa and wraps a tentative arm around Otabek’s shoulders.

 

The gesture seems to unlock something in Otabek and he shudders once before turning into Yuri’s side, tears rolling silently down his cheeks. Yuri instinctively brings his other arm up to wrap around Otabek’s side, dragging him closer and trying not to feel too overwhelmed as Otabek leans into him and cries. He rubs a hand up and down Otabek’s back in what he desperately hopes is a soothing gesture, making little cooing noises that he thinks he remembers his mama doing when he was sad as a child. He twists into Otabek and hooks his leg around Otabek’s waist, drawing him even closer. He nuzzles his cheek against the top of his head, as if the more physical contact he can provide the more it will help. He’s completely out of his depth, but somehow, miraculously, what he’s doing seems to be working as Otabek slowly starts to relax.

 

After a long while Otabek’s breathing starts to even out, and he starts to squirm, poking his head out of the gap at the crook of Yuri’s elbow.

 

“Yuri?” Yuri hugs him tighter, his entire body entwined around Otabek’s. “You can let me go now.”

 

Yuri looks down at his splayed limbs, and give a self-conscious chuckle as he loosens his grip. They slowly untangle themselves from one another, Otabek rubbing feeling back into parts of himself where Yuri had clearly been gripping too hard. “You really are part cat, aren’t you?” he teases softly, and though his voice still only a hair’s breadth away from shattering, it’s a start.

 

Yuri meows, batting at Otabek’s arm playfully, and is rewarded with another soft laugh, this time a little stronger. He smiles, pleased to have been able to do something right, but his expression quickly sobers as he takes in how dejected Otabek still looks.

 

He makes a decision, and slides to the floor before he can second guess himself. He pushes and tugs at Otabek’s limbs until he’s kneeling between his legs, and slowly starts to stroke up and down his thighs.

 

“Yuri, what are you…?” Otabek begins, but Yuri cuts him off with a shush.

 

“It sucks that Roman is retiring. I know you don’t want me to try and convince you that you’ll be able to do amazing things without him by your side, even though you _will_.” He digs his fingers into the thick muscle of Otabek’s legs for emphasis, earning himself a little hiss from the other boy in response. “I know you don’t want me to tell you all the ways that Yakov will be just as good a coach, or even how having him coach you is a great thing for your career. Right now things are crappy, and it’s okay for you to feel that way. So I just want to help distract you for a little bit.” His fingers trace teasingly close to Otabek’s groin. “Will you let me distract you for a little bit? Pretty please?”

 

Otabek breathes in a thick gulp of air, his entire body rigid. His hand slowly comes down to card through Yuri’s hair, tugging gently through some tangles before sweeping down along his cheek. He clasps Yuri’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and tips his head up so that their eyes meet. Otabek’s eyes are dark and possessive, some of their usual fire finally returned.

 

“I want to be selfish,” he admits, tilting Yuri’s head just a little higher than comfortable. Yuri whines in appreciation and strokes eagerly once more along Otabek’s thighs, from groin to knee and back again.

 

“So be selfish,” he replies.

 

“I want to take,” Otabek says, his voice dipping low in a way that has Yuri instantly hardening in his pants.

  
“I’m right here,” he practically begs.

 

Otabek’s fingers tug more insistently and Yuri eagerly follows their guidance, clambering up into Otabek’s lap and wrapping his arms around his neck as they both surge forward at the same time, lips crashing together fast and frenzied. Yuri lets his mouth slip open and moans when Otabek doesn’t hesitate in pressing the advantage, tongue flicking out to deepen the kiss as his hands start to trace up and down Yuri’s back.

 

Yuri grinds down into Otabek’s lap, groaning in satisfaction as he feels Otabek growing hard against him. He starts rocking his hips back and forth, pressing their cocks together through two layers of denim. Otabek growls possessively and his hands slip down to grab at the curve of Yuri’s ass, fingers digging in and pressing him even harder into his lap.

 

It’s rough, and intense, and the emotions of the day have clearly gotten to both of them. Yuri comes without warning, his choked off shout swallowed down by Otabek’s mouth. He feels stickiness in his pants, and he winces as his suddenly overstimulated cock continues to find friction against his clothing. Otabek thrusts twice more against him and then stills, his whole body tensing and his mouth falling slack as Yuri feels his release pulse against him.

 

For a while the only sound is their combined breathing, heavy and exhausted after their frenzied activity. Yuri lets his head drop on to Otabek’s shoulder and he lets out a short laugh. “Well, that was slightly quicker than I had intended,” he admits wryly.

 

Otabek surges upwards and Yuri yelps in surprise as the ground falls away from him. He wraps his arms tightly around Otabek’s neck and his legs around his waist as the other boy stands up, hands still grasping Yuri’s ass firmly to keep him steady.

  
“What the hell?” Yuri exclaims as Otabek starts walking them towards the bedroom, seemingly unfazed by Yuri’s weight despite them being almost the same size. Otabek doesn’t say anything as he reaches the foot of the bed and dumps Yuri onto it unceremoniously.

 

Yuri scrambles to right himself, all-too aware of the mess in his briefs, and watches wide eyed as Otabek pulls off his shirt, balling it up and throwing it over his shoulder. He follows Yuri onto the bed, prowling over to him and forcing him backwards until he’s lying down with Otabek hovering prone above him.

  
“I’m not done with you yet,” Otabek promises, and Yuri almost comes again right there and then.

 

Otabek takes his time stripping Yuri down, removing items of clothing slowly, meticulously, piece by agonizing piece. All Yuri’s attempts to hurry things along are met with firm hands pushing his away, and an even firmer, “Behave, Yuri.”

 

Of course, telling Yuri to behave is a sure-fire way to get him to do the exact opposite, and Yuri knows that _Otabek_ knows this, so he doesn’t feel even a little bit guilty when he uses every trick in the book to distract Otabek from his task. He begs, he pleads, he pouts and rolls his hips seductively, looking up at Otabek from behind long eyelashes in a way he knows drives the other boy crazy.

 

Eventually Otabek fishes out the handcuffs from his wardrobe and chains Yuri’s hands to the headboard rails. Yuri can’t decide if he considers this a victory or not.

 

Once Otabek has stripped Yuri of every last vestige of clothing - he’d even taken his time removing the many cuffs and bracelets around Yuri’s wrists, taking each one in turn and admiring it before placing it carefully on the bedside table - he does the same to himself. Equally, torturously slowly. Yuri is torn between shouting at him to hurry up and begging him to slow down, because this strip tease is hands down one of the hottest things he’s ever seen in his life.

 

Finally, _finally_ , they’re both naked. Otabek climbs back onto the bed and settles himself between Yuri’s legs. Yuri’s breath catches in his throat as Otabek leans down and blows a gentle gust of warm air along his cock, which had recovered from their previous activities about half an hour ago and is straining against his belly once more.

 

Otabek licks a long stripe from base to tip, and breathes again at the damp strip of skin. Yuri feels it all the way up his spine, and he gasps and bucks his hips. “Otabek, _please_ ,” he whines, almost ashamed that he’s been reduced to begging so quickly. Almost.

 

Otabek looks up at him through dark lashes, and his gaze is so predatory that Yuri momentarily forgets to breathe. He grins darkly, and then takes Yuri all the way down in one smooth motion.

 

Yuri lets out a strangled moan, and his hips jerk upwards of their own accord. Otabek braces his forearm across Yuri’s belly to steady him, and starts bobbing his head up and down, working over every inch of Yuri with his experienced tongue. His free hand comes up to work Yuri’s balls, slipping down to rub at his perineum ever so often.

 

Yuri can feel himself getting closer to the edge, and he opens his mouth to warn Otabek. Otabek simply lifts the hand across Yuri’s belly and reaches up to press two fingers to Yuri’s bottom lip. Yuri’s lips close around the two digits on instinct, sucking them greedily into his mouth, and he comes hard down Otabek’s throat, vision whiting out for a long second.

 

Otabek works him through it, his movements not letting up as he swallows down everything Yuri has to offer. Yuri’s breathing evens out, his cock softens, and still Otabek doesn’t let up. If anything his pace starts to increase. Yuri starts to wriggle, his dick hot and oversensitive in Otabek’s mouth. He whimpers in discomfort around the two fingers still pressed heavy against his tongue.

 

Otabek draws off Yuri’s cock, and the cool air rushes over the damp skin like a balm. “I said, I’m not done with you yet,” he reiterates, and drops his head back down, his tongue working around the base of Yuri’s flaccid cock and slowly coaxing him back to hardness.

 

Yuri groans and writhes, the stimulation much too much after two orgasms so close together. He twists his head to the side, letting Otabek’s fingers fall from his lips. “Ah...ah... it’s too much,” he whines, tugging at his restraints and twisting his hips to try and escape Otabek’s onslaught. Otabek simply brings both hands to pin Yuri’s hips to the mattress and attacks Yuri’s cock with renewed vigor. “Otabek please, _please_ ,” Yuri begs. Otabek ignores him.

 

Yuri’s third orgasm comes not with bang but with a whimper. Otabek draws away just at the point of climax and Yuri can only stare transfixed as his straining red cock dribbles come slowly down the shaft. He didn’t think he had anything left in him, but apparently he did. Otabek scoops up the viscous liquid and starts to run his hand up and down Yuri’s length, using his release as lubrication.

 

“One more for me Yura, and then I’ll fuck you.”

 

Yuri whimpers, disbelieving. “Otabek, Otabek you can’t,” he says, eyes wide as he watches the head of his cock disappear and reappear through the circle of Otabek’s grip. His flaccid penis is barely longer than Otabek’s hand, so he feels his touch the entire way along it. “There’s nothing left, I’ve got nothing left,” he moans desperately.

 

Otabek surges up and quiets him with a kiss, his lips a soothing balm against the hysteria bubbling up in his chest. “Shhh now Yura, you can do this,” he whispers against Yuri’s lips.

 

Yuri doesn’t know if it’s a reassurance or a threat.

 

His fourth orgasm is almost painful, Otabek coaxing out just the tiniest amount of come from his overworked penis. Yuri’s mouth opens in a silent scream and his whole body tenses away from the mattress as the last remains of his release are squeezed from him drop by agonizing drop.

 

He’s breathing in short, heavy gasps. He’s drained, voided of every ounce of liquid that was once in him. He’s almost delirious with overstimulation when he feels a cool finger press against his hole. He groans and arches away from the invasion, but it follows him determinedly, just the tip breaching his rim.

 

“Come on Yura, be good for me,” Otabek coos as he slowly presses inside, and Yuri feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes as his body is subjected to an entirely different form of arousal. It’s so much, much too much, and he can do nothing but force his body to relax as Otabek slowly, meticulously works him open.

 

When Otabek eventually lines himself up and presses in Yuri exhales with a heavy gasp, eyes scrunched closed against the overwhelming onslaught. He feels the pad of Otabek’s thumb wipe away an errant tear, and then lips caress the shell of his ear. “Come on baby, open your eyes for me.” Yuri forces his eyes open and the sight he’s greeted with takes his breath away.

 

Otabek is poised above him, his hair ruffled and sweat gleaming on his skin. His muscles straining with the effort of holding himself still, and his eyes are boring a hole right through to Yuri’s very core. He looks beautiful, like something out of a fairytale, and Yuri drowns in his gaze. “Move,” he whispers, suddenly desperate to feel Otabek inside him despite everything.

 

Otabek grins and starts to rock his hips, his movements leisurely and slow. In his hyperstimulated state Yuri swears he can feel Otabek’s cock slide over every ridge inside of him. He feels full, so full, and he lets himself drown in the sensation as Otabek pumps himself in and out, taking care not to brush against Yuri’s poor abused cock as he does.

 

They fuck like this for what seems like hours. Yuri is already feeling like he’s having an out of body experience, and this languid pace does nothing to make him feel otherwise. Otabek buries his face in Yuri’s neck and snaps his hips in the same relentless rhythm. Yuri feels like he’s burning up from the inside, there’s an itch deep within him that is just out of reach of Otabek’s movements. He needs more.

 

“Beka, _please_ ,” he begs, the inclination totally different from earlier as he wraps his legs around Otabek’s calves and forces the other boy deeper inside of him. Otabek complies, fucking Yuri harder, but maintains his slow pace, refusing to be hurried.

 

Yuri feels his orgasm start to build, uncurling like the tiniest of saplings. As Otabek fucks into him again, again, again, he feels it start to grow inside of him, taking root, growing leaves, until it’s a majestic oak tree that threatens to block out the sun. He feels it deep inside of him, right at his very core.

 

It’s the first time he’s ever orgasmed without ejaculating, and it’s surreal and terrifying and completely fantastic. He shudders against Otabek, completely losing himself to the sensation, only vaguely registering when Otabek joins him, pulsing four orgasm’s worth of release into the condom he’s wearing.

 

Afterwards, once Otabek has undone the handcuffs and massaged feeling back into Yuri’s wrists, once they’ve both cleaned themselves up and dressed in comfy clothes, they return to the living room sofa where Yuri curls happily into Otabek’s side and Otabek throws the afghan over both of them. Silence falls between them once more, but this time it’s happy, it’s content, it’s peaceful.

 

Otabek tries to ruin it at one point by second guessing himself - “Was that too much? Did I take it too far?” - but Yuri shushes him with a firm kiss - “I would have told you if it was too much, safewords remember?” - and burrows himself even deeper into Otabek’s side. He knows that they both have issues that aren’t resolved; Otabek still has insecurities he needs to work through with Roman leaving, and Yuri should probably address why Yakov’s comments irritated him as much as they did, but right now, in this moment, things are about as perfect as Yuri can imagine them being.

 

“Thank you,” Otabek eventually says into the silence. Yuri twists to grin up at him.

 

“Any time, that was pretty fucking incredible,” he says, even though they both know that’s not what Otabek is really thanking him for.

 

Otabek laughs and drops a kiss to the top of Yuri’s head. “Who knew my boyfriend was such a sucker for multiple orgasms.”

 

Yuri tenses, frowning curiously up at Otabek. “Boyfriends…is that what we are?”

 

Otabek laughs, but stops himself when he sees that Yuri is being serious. “I mean, I’ve kind of been working under the assumption that you’ve been my boyfriend for the better part of a year now,” he says slowly, as if worried he’ll spook Yuri off with the wrong choice of phrase. “I haven’t been seeing anybody else since we first started sleeping together...have you?”

 

“Of course not!” Yuri replies indignantly, offended that Otabek would even think such a thing.

 

“We spend most evenings together, we sleep together. We have fun together...I mean I’m no expert, but it sounds a lot like what boyfriends would do, don’t you think?” Otabek raises an eyebrow at Yuri, and Yuri scowls, feeling his face flush red with embarrassment. He burrows his head into Otabek’s shoulder so that the other boy can’t see.

 

“You’re mocking me,” he mumbles into the fabric of Otabek’s t-shirt. He feels a rumble of laughter ripple through Otabek’s chest underneath him, and then another soft kiss press to the crown of his head.

 

“Never,” Otabek replies solemnly.

 

Yuri gets his face under control and twists to look at Otabek again. “My boyfriend Otabek,” he says, rolling the words around in his mouth, trying them on for size, before breaking out into a wide grin.

 

“I like it.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s exhausting, and exhilarating. It feels like when he started learning to skate and everything was a first. He feels joy when he steps onto the ice, feels it singing in his veins. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to skate for the love of it, not for the gold.

Yuri takes gold at the Rostelecom cup, with Otabek cheering him on from the sidelines. The pride coils hot and fierce inside his chest as he swipes an extra glass of champagne at the post-event banquet and dances with Otabek so filthily they even manage to make Christophe blush.

 

He knows it was an easy victory - none of the major players on the circuit drew Rostelecom this year. Hell, even  _ Minami  _ made it onto the podium - but it’s his first gold since his body started changing on him, and the comforting weight of the first place medal around his neck reminds him that the end of this infernal transition stage might just be in sight.

 

He and Otabek retire from the banquet early, then continue celebrating in Yuri’s hotel suite until the small hours of the morning. The room looks like a tornado swept through it, and Yuri checks out the next day feeling a little sore and a lot self-satisfied. He even takes some time to pose for photos with a group of Yuri’s Angels - that’s how good he’s feeling.

 

He takes a couple of days off to recuperate, but ends up spending them at the rink anyway. He doesn’t take his skates - he’s finally accepted that if he wants to be at his best for the Grand Prix final he needs to give his body a break sometimes - but he’s more than happy spending his days watching the other skaters practice. 

 

When he says the other skaters, what he really means is Otabek. 

 

It seems their conversation the other week has had something of an effect on the older boy. Yuri hadn’t been lying when he’d tried to tell Otabek just how good his skating has gotten this season, but if he was good before, now he’s phenomenal. Evidently acknowledging Roman’s retirement out loud was the shove that Otabek needed to shake off the last of his insecurities, a form of catharsis that’s sent that final brick in some mental wall tumbling down. The power and determination he’s always had on the ice has been honed into something that’s poised, graceful, magnificent. He flies across the ice and steals Yuri’s breath away with every jump, every spin, every step sequence. When he strikes his final pose, eyes locking on Yuri’s with a possessive stare that promises all manner of terrible things later - yes Yuri chose to stand at this exact spot on the rink’s edge for a reason, so sue him - it takes Yuri a full three seconds to remember to breathe. He’s hypnotizing, there’s no other word for it.

 

Yuri barely manages to contain himself each afternoon when Yakov finally announces the skaters are done for the day, dragging Otabek back to his room as soon as he emerges from the locker room. And, ok, maybe Yuri doesn’t give his body as much of a break as he could do, but it’s totally worth it.

 

He returns to the ice filled with a renewed sense of vigor. His programs are good, but they’re not perfect. They can be improved. He can be improved.

 

He listens eagerly to everything Yakov has to say, the defensiveness he usually feels when presented with critique completely absent in his desire to be better. He drags Victor onto the ice after practice to run through some of his more complicated transitions, even swallows his pride and goes to Katsudon for advice on improving his stamina. 

 

It’s exhausting, and exhilarating. It feels like when he started learning to skate and everything was a first. He feels joy when he steps onto the ice, feels it singing in his veins. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to skate for the love of it, not for the gold.

 

He spends the majority of his time focusing on his free program. The technical elements are all pretty much locked down at this point, but he’s struggling to connect with the piece in the same way he does with his short program. Whereas his short program is supposed to evoke the harshness of building conflict, his free program is the slow dance of resolution. 

 

Conflict is easy for Yuri, resolution not so much. 

 

The two pieces are supposed to feel like two halves of the same story, so Yuri’s opening pose for his free program is the same as his final pose of the short. The music swells and Yuri takes off, full off the same determination and energy that defines his short piece. For the first quarter the piece builds and builds, lulling the audience into thinking that it’s going be more of the same. It reaches its apex well before the halfway point though - a deafening crescendo that allows Yuri to show off his newly learnt quad lutz - and then the sweeping music changes direction, becomes softer, calmer. Drags the audience in a new, unexpected direction. The music ripples and curves, and Yuri’s movements become steadily more serene. He finally finishes with his arms spread wide to the audience, welcoming them in. It’s a difficult transition, but Yuri knows that if he can master it he’ll captivate the judges and the crowd alike.

 

_ If _ being the operative word here.

 

“It just doesn’t feel like resolution, it feels like defeat,” Yuri complains to Otabek one afternoon as they head back to Otabek’s apartment, skates slung over his shoulder. “It feels like I’ve lost the battle, like I’m surrendering to whatever it is I’m fighting.”

 

Otabek hums thoughtfully, readjusting his skates under his arm so that he can dig his keys out of his pocket. “Think of it like losing the battle but winning the war?” he suggests as they both head inside.

 

Yuri dumps his skates by the door and throws himself on the sofa with a huff. “I only have two programs, this  _ is _ the war,” he grumbles.

  
Otabek laughs and joins Yuri on the couch, shoving at the other boy’s legs until he shifts to make room for him. “Okay, not a great metaphor,” he acknowledges. He twists so that he’s facing Yuri. “What exactly about it feels like you’re losing?”

 

Yuri takes a moment to think it over, running through the piece in his head. “Because I’m backing down. I start with all this fire and then I just … let it all go.”

 

“But why is that you losing?” Otabek presses. “Can’t it be that you’re both coming around to each other’s point of view?”

 

“Well if that’s the case then I haven’t  _ won _ , have I?” 

 

Otabek laughs, drawing Yuri’s legs up into his lap so he can massage his feet as he talks. “Your mind is a strange and wonderful place sometimes.”

 

Yuri scowls, but decides not to say anything that might risk Otabek stopping what he’s doing.

 

“Sometimes it’s not about winning,” Otabek continues as he digs his thumb into a particularly tense area of Yuri’s foot, earning a hiss of appreciation from Yuri in response. “Sometimes it’s about reaching a conclusion that works for all parties. Not everything in life is a zero sum game.”

 

“A zero sum what-now?”

 

“It’s an economic theory,” Otabek begins, chuckling at the immediate scowl that crosses Yuri’s face at the mention of economics. “Zero sum means that in order for somebody to gain something, somebody else has to lose by the same amount. Losses and gains add up to zero. If we’re splitting a piece of cake then in order for you to get more I have to get less.”

 

“Well, yeah, obviously,” Yuri says petulantly.

 

“But in  _ some  _ situations,” Otabek continues, smacking gently at Yuri’s thigh for his interruption, “The two sides can both benefit. I give you something you want in exchange for something I want. We both win. Non-zero sum.”

 

“But surely if I don’t want to give something to you and then I do, then I’ve lost out,” Yuri presses. “I should be able to get what I want from you without having to give up something in return.”

 

Otabek laughs loudly, holding a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I’m hurt Yuri, are you saying you wouldn’t give me something that would make me happy?”

 

“Of course I would, but that’s because making you happy makes me happy so… _ oh. _ ” Yuri’s eyes go wide as comprehension dawns. He shoves at Otabek’s shoulder, ignoring the wicked grin that’s plastered across the other boy’s face. “I see what you’re saying now. You’re clever Altin, I’ll give you that.”

 

Otabek grins, brushing some imaginary lint off his shoulder where Yuri had pushed him. “Thank you, I try.”

 

“You know, if this whole skating thing doesn’t work out for you, maybe you should become an economics teacher. I still haven’t forgotten how you helped me study for my tax exam,” Yuri says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

 

Otabek laughs, and leans forward to press a soft kiss to Yuri’s lips. “Are you saying you want to start the practical exercises?”

 

“You’re such a dork,” Yuri complains, but follows Otabek into the bedroom anyway.

 

They undress each other leisurely, both happy to luxuriate in the long expanse of evening that stretches out before them. They’re both hard by the time they tumble into bed together, but neither one of them is particularly keen to hurry things along as Otabek peppers every inch of Yuri’s skin with hot, open mouthed kisses. Yuri stretches out across the mattress, letting his eyes flit closed as he bathes in the attention.

 

Otabek kisses a line down Yuri’s belly and back up again, taking a moment to suck a hickey into the sensitive skin just above Yuri’s nipple before mouthing up his neck to claim his lips with his. Yuri returns the kiss happily, wrapping his arms around Otabek’s neck and drawing him in closer.

 

Yuri isn’t expecting it when Otabek rolls them over so that Yuri is straddling him, and he lets out a little yelp of surprise, hands moving to grab at Otabek’s shoulders to steady himself. Otabek laughs softly and presses a light kiss to the tip of Yuri’s nose in apology, one hand tracing patterns up and down Yuri’s side as the other fumbles in the bedside drawer next to them.

 

He returns with lube but no condoms, and Yuri raises his eyebrows questioningly at the other boy.

 

“I was thinking we could try something a little different tonight.” Otabek says, holding out the lube to Yuri. Yuri accepts the tube questioningly, still not sure what it is that Otabek has in mind. “You did say you wanted to try topping right?”

 

Yuri almost drops the lube in shock. Despite discussing it all those months ago, they’ve never actually revisited the idea of them switching things up. Yuri isn’t overly fussed about that; Otabek never fails to make him feel good whatever they’re doing, so it’s not like he’s ever felt like he’s missing out. 

 

But now that the opportunity has presented itself….

 

“You...you trust me to do that?” he practically whispers, fingers tightening around the lube as if worried Otabek might pluck it out of his hand and shout, “Only kidding!”

 

Otabek grins up at Yuri. “Shouldn’t I?”

 

Yuri returns the grin and leans down to claim Otabek’s mouth in a searing kiss, grinding his hips down in eager anticipation. He breaks away for half a heartbeat - “This is going to be so good,” he mumbles breathlessly against Otabek’s lips - then dives straight back in again.

 

Otabek returns the affection all too happily, his mouth slipping open just slightly so that Yuri can deepen the kiss. His hands stroke along Yuri’s back, caressing along the curve of his spine and up to tangle in his hair.

 

Yuri yelps as fingers suddenly tighten against his scalp, and he’s forced to break the kiss. Otabek’s free arm wraps possessively around his waist, the other firmly tugging his head backwards so that Yuri’s forced to arch his back, presenting himself to Otabek.

 

“Oh Yura, you didn’t think this meant I’d let you be in charge did you?” Otabek teases as he sits up and presses in close, their chests rubbing together as he starts to mouth at Yuri’s neck.

 

Oh.  _ Fuck _ .

 

Yuri feels his cock swell almost painfully hard at Otabek’s suggestive tone, straining to break free of its confines sandwiched between their stomachs. He feels almost boneless as he moans happily because  _ yes _ , this is much better.

 

The idea of fucking Otabek his boyfriend? That’s good. The idea of fucking Otabek his dominant? That’s incredible.

 

“N….No Beka. I shouldn’t have assumed…” he whimpers, accepting and embracing the role Otabek is offering him. He flexes his hips a few times, letting out a breathy moan as his dick catches against Otabek’s. 

 

Otabek’s fingers tighten almost painfully in his hair. “No, you shouldn’t have,” he agrees, lips still pressed against his skin. “But it’s okay, I’ll let you make it up to me.”

 

They kiss for a while longer, Yuri rocking his hips into Otabek’s and groaning every time their dicks rub together. Eventually Otabek breaks the kiss and leans back down on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows so he can watch. “Start with one finger,” he directs. “Make sure to use a lot of lube...it’s been a while,” he admits with a slightly self-conscious grin.

 

Yuri doesn’t need telling twice, coating his index finger with a liberal amount of lube before reaching down to trace the edge of Otabek’s hole. The older boy lets out a sharp gasp at the cool touch, and they both stare almost transfixed as Yuri pushes in, just the very tip of his finger breaching Otabek’s rim.

 

He’s tight -  _ fuck  _ he’s tight - as Yuri slowly presses in. Otabek exhales slowly, eyes slipping closed as he adjusts to the sensation. “Wait there,” he commands when Yuri’s down to his second knuckle, and Yuri freezes obediently. Otabek’s hot, his walls squeezing unrelentingly around Yuri’s digit. Is this how he feels when Otabek works him over? 

 

“Okay, you can move now.” Yuri’s gaze flicks from his hand to Otabek’s face. He’d almost forgotten what he was supposed to be doing, he’d been too mesmerized by the sight of them joined together like this. He starts to draw his finger out, waiting until just the tip is still inside before steadily pushing back in again. He grins at the whimper he manages to draw out of Otabek, and starts to pick up the pace.

 

After a few minutes Otabek tells him he can add a second finger and Yuri eagerly complies, scissoring his fingers in the same way he knows he likes it when their roles are reversed. Otabek’s breathing is getting more labored, his dick looks painfully hard where it’s standing proud against his belly, a steady stream of precum leaking from the tip.

 

Yuri’s hard too, he can feel the weight of it between his legs. But somehow the idea of his own release seems less important, less pressing with Otabek moaning underneath him like this. 

 

He wants to add a third finger, but Otabek hasn’t told him to do that yet, so he carries on pumping and twisting his two fingers, searching out all the ways that make Otabek react the best. Otabek continues to offer guidance -  _ crook your fingers, just there, yes, good. Faster, deeper...ah... Yes... just like that. Okay now slower, gentler  _ \- and Yuri follows his instructions to the letter. Its mesmerizing, watching Otabek come undone underneath his ministrations.

Eventually Otabek lets Yuri add a third finger, but he only needs a couple of pumps before he declares that he’s ready.

 

“Take some more lube and cover yourself. Nice and slow, I want to watch you.” Yuri kneels up and squeezes a large dollop into the palm of his right hand, then starts to stroke rapidly along his length. 

 

“ _ Slow _ , Yura.” Otabek chides, and it’s almost instinctive as his movements immediately slow down. He strokes himself leisurely along the full length of his shaft, feeling the heat start to uncoil deep in his gut.

 

“Look at you, so fucking incredible.” Otabek’s voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away and Yuri preens under the praise, spreading his legs wider and arching his back in offering.

 

“Okay, I think you’re ready.” He feels hands on his hips as Otabek maneuvers him into position between his legs, pushing and nudging at him until he’s lined up perfectly.

 

“Nice and slow for me,” Otabek says as he applies gentle pressure to Yuri’s hips, a physical command as well as a verbal one. Yuri takes a deep, steadying breath, and starts to press in.

 

“ _ Fuck. _ ” Yuri can’t help swearing as his cock breaches the tight ring of muscle, as he feels Otabek’s wet heat engulf him. The sensation is completely overwhelming, his breath practically punched out of him as he slowly bottoms out.

 

“Now, hold it there,” Otabek says, voice sounding about as strained as Yuri feels. Yuri braces his hands on either side of Otabek’s head and forces himself to take slow, steadying breaths. His whole body is quivering with barely restrained tension. He wants to move, to feel the slick slide of his cock inside Otabek’s body so damn badly.

 

“ _ Steady _ ,” Otabek reiterates, clearly sensing Yuri’s wavering resolve. Yuri whimpers and drops his head onto Otabek’s shoulder. It’s taking every ounce of his self-restraint not to move, he thinks he might die from the suspense.

 

“Shhh, you’re doing so well for me Yura.” He feels Otabek’s hand come up to trace along his spine and he shudders, feeling so incredibly overwhelmed. “Alright, you can move now. Nice and slowly okay?”

 

Yuri starts to draw out, both boys moaning in unison at the movement. It feels like Otabek’s passage has Yuri’s dick in a vise, he’s so tight. His walls flex and pulse, like he’s trying to keep Yuri buried inside him. Yuri pulls out until just his tip is still breaching Otabek’s hole, and then starts to slide slowly back in again.

 

The pace is excruciating. Every fiber of Yuri’s body wants to be able to slam home, to bury himself as deep inside Otabek as he can get. But Otabek’s hands are still on his hips, his words still ringing in his ears, and he’s powerless to disobey.

 

Otabek sets a slow pace that has Yuri’s orgasm building steadily, unrelentingly just underneath the surface. At a certain point Yuri adjusts his angle and the resulting movement has Otabek arching away from the mattress, his mouth open in a silent shout as his hands fist in the sheets underneath him. Yuri knows he must have hit that same sweet spot that always makes him see stars, so he makes sure to aim for it on the next thrust, and the next. Otabek looks completely lost to pleasure; he doesn't think he's seen anything more gorgeous. 

 

Yuri watches hypnotized as Otabek’s breathing starts to get more erratic, a flush spreading down his neck and chest as he rocks his hips to meet Yuri’s movements. He’s obviously getting close. Yuri thinks he might be closer.

 

“Ah, fuck, Beka,” he moans as his hips snap forwards, meeting the flesh of Otabek’s thighs with a dull slap. “I don’t know if I can…”

 

“Not until I say you can,” Otabek interrupts, voice breathless but firm as he opens his eyes to fix Yuri with a stare that promises all manner of terrible things. “You don’t want to disobey me, do you Yura?”

 

“Ugh,  _ no _ ,” Yuri whines, his whole body shaking with the effort it’s taking to keep the pace that Otabek’s set. “But I’m  _ so close _ .”

 

One of Otabek’s hands comes up to card through Yuri’s hair, a soothing caress against the fire that’s building in his gut. “Not. Yet.” He rolls his hips harder and Yuri thinks he might scream. 

 

Otabek’s other hand reaches down to fist at his own cock, two hard strokes and then his whole body goes rigid, his head arching back and his breath stuttering at he comes in thick white ropes across his chest. Yuri can only stare in awe and wonder as Otabek comes undone underneath him, Yuri still fucking him through it so agonizingly slowly.

 

Otabek grabs Yuri’s hips, holding Yuri buried inside him as he rides out the last aftershocks of his orgasm. Yuri can feel his walls clenching around him and he bites his lip hard enough that he tastes copper to stop himself from joining Otabek in his own release.

 

After almost a full minute Otabek’s breathing starts to even out and he relaxes his grip on Yuri’s hips. His inside walls relax  _ their _ grip on Yuri’s cock, and Yuri breathes a sigh of relief as his orgasm takes a small step away from the cliff’s edge. He can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage as he holds his body steady, his entire being focused on the boy underneath him.

 

“Okay,” Otabek eventually pants, his voice barely louder than the sound of their combined breathing. “Okay my Yura, you can come now.”

 

Yuri knows that in the state he’s in it would only take a few hard thrusts for him to come. He also knows from experience how sensitive Otabek almost certainly is right now, how tender his hole must be feeling. Conflict flares in his brain for an instant, but the victor emerges almost immediately. Yuri’s pleasure is not worth Otabek’s discomfort. Not even close.

 

He takes a deep, steadying breath, and starts to slowly draw out, timing his movements with Otabek’s exhales so that it’s as smooth as possible for the other boy. The tip of his dick finally slips free and Yuri whimpers as cool air rushes over it. He takes himself in hand and starts to pump rapidly, finally,  _ finally  _ letting his orgasm overwhelm him.

 

He might not want to cause Otabek discomfort, but he also can’t help being a little bit of a dick given the circumstances. So, of course, he purposefully aims for Otabek when he climaxes, his come mixing with Otabek’s as he paints milky white stripes across the other boy’s chest and stomach.

 

Otabek lets out a gasp of surprise and reaches up to grab Yuri’s arm. He drags him down on top of him, pressing their chests together and smearing their combined release between them. Yuri hisses and tries to wriggle away, but Otabek has him in a bear hug. “If I’m going to get messy then so are you,” he teases between laughs. Eventually Yuri is forced to admit defeat and he slumps against Otabek’s chest still panting heavily in the wake of his orgasm.

 

“So, how was my lesson?” Otabek eventually asks when they’ve both calmed down a little and are cleaning themselves up in the bathroom.

 

Yuri sticks his tongue out at Otabek in the mirror. “You’re an ass,” he says, but there’s no real heat behind his words. Mostly he’s trying to decide if he has enough energy to go again. He kind of wants to see if he can fuck Otabek into forgetting his own name.

 

Otabek chuckles as he comes up behind Yuri, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing a soft kiss to the juncture between his neck and shoulder. “True, but maybe you’ll think of it when you’re on the ice tomorrow.”

 

Yuri simply grins and leans back into Otabek’s embrace. He doesn’t need to tell the other boy that everything he does on the ice reminds him of Otabek nowadays. 

 

~~~~

 

The next day everything finally clicks into place with his free program. Each element of the complex choreography seems to come effortlessly to him, every step feels as natural as breathing. Rather than fighting with the music Yuri allows himself to get swept up in it, lets it send him spinning across the ice like a magnificent wave. Even Yakov has to begrudgingly admit that he’s impressed by the end of the practice, and Yuri leaves the ice feeling untouchable. 

 

He’s so busy texting Otabek that he almost doesn’t notice Victor sitting alone by the edge of the rink. The older skater has his phone clasped tightly in his hands, and he’s staring out across the ice with a glazed expression, looking but not seeing.

 

Old Yuri almost certainly would have walked straight past. His relationship with Victor has never fully recovered from Victor running off to Japan and forgetting all about his promise to the younger skater, but ever since Otabek came into his life Yuri’s found it easier not to be bitter about how things turned out. He tries not to question that emotional development too hard.

 

Too be fair, New Yuri almost walks past as well. He has a dinner date with Otabek, and he’s not sure he has the energy for Victor’s very special brand of hysteria. Still, he’s trying to be a better person nowadays, and Victor really does look like he could do with some company. Cursing himself for his newfound empathy Yuri huffs loudly and stomps over.

 

“Hey old man,” he says, sitting down on the bench next to Victor with a loud thump. Victor startles and turns towards Yuri.

 

“Oh, hi Yurio,” he says, hastily brushing wetness away from underneath his eyes. That in itself is concerning; Victor is the king of melodrama, when he’s upset he makes sure everyone within a three block radius knows about it. For him to try and hide his feelings like this? Means it must be serious.

 

“Not my name,” Yuri replies without really thinking about it. It’s become routine at this point to complain about the nickname that Victor and Katsudon insist on using, but if he’s honest he doesn’t mind it too much. Besides, only Otabek calls him Yura nowadays. It would be weird if Victor started using it again.

 

Victor tries to smile, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it as his attention turns back to the phone in his lap, turning it over and over as if he can make it ring by giving it enough attention. 

 

“You and Katsudon didn’t have a fight did you?” Yuri asks, grimacing. He really doesn’t want to get in the middle of a domestic. Especially when he would probably have to take Katsudon’s side given past experience.

 

Victor barks out a surprised laugh, but it turns into a sob halfway through and he buries his face in his hand, his shoulder shaking as his emotions get the better of him.

 

“Ah, fuck, I’m sorry,” Yuri says, alarmed by Victor’s reaction. He shifts a bit closer on the bench and pats Victor’s shoulder awkwardly. “Look, I’m sure whatever it is you and the pig will work it out...”

 

“Yuuri’s dad had a heart attack,” Victor interrupts, and Yuri’s mouth slams shut. “Yuuri flew back to Japan this morning.”

 

Yuri’s brain goes blank. Fuck. He knows Katsuki Toshiya. Hell, he even  _ likes _ the old man, liked him long before he started to begrudgingly tolerate his son. It’s hard not to like somebody who accepts you into their home and feeds you incredible food without a single question. What is he supposed to say? What does  _ anybody _ say in response to news like that? 

 

“Fuck.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Is he...he’s going to be okay right?” Yuri asks hesitantly.

 

Victor shrugs. “He came out of surgery an hour ago. Yuuri just called me, he said the doctors are optimistic, but until he wakes up it’s hard to be sure.”

 

“Is Katsu- How is Yuuri?” The word feels foreign on his tongue, he doesn’t think he’s ever called Yuuri by his name before.

 

Victor shrugs again, it’s like his body is on autopilot. Going through the motions. “He says he’s doing okay, but I know how much this must be destroying him.”

 

“He’s a fighter, Victor, just like his dad. They’ll both be okay.” Yuri tries to reassure him, he’s not sure Victor even hears him as he carries on turning his phone over in his hand.

 

The silence falls heavy between them, Yuri doesn’t know what he can say, what he can do to help.

 

“I should be there,” Victor finally breaks the silence, his voice cracking at the end.

 

“Why aren’t you?” Yuri can’t help asking. He and Victor are both cut from the same cloth in a lot of ways; being a child prodigy in Russia doesn’t exactly allow a lot of time for familial  bonding, and Yuri knows Victor has even less contact with his parents than he does. He knows how much it means to Victor to have been so readily adopted into the Katsuki clan, knows how much he must want to be there for them right now.

 

“Yuuri banned me from coming,” Victor admits. “He’s pulled out of the Grand Prix so that he can be with his family. I wanted to do the same but he said he would never be able to forgive himself if I pulled out of my final event for him.”

 

Ah, of course. At the beginning of the season Victor had announced that he would be retiring at the end of the year - for real this time. The GPF will be Victor’s last ever competition; no wonder Yuuri wouldn’t let Victor withdraw.

 

“It’s probably for the best,” Yuri says. “You pulling out of the GPF would probably just make Ka- Yuuri even more upset. He still idolizes you far more than he has any right to.”

 

Victor lets out a wet laugh. “I have no idea why,” he admits. “I don’t know what I did to deserve him. To deserve all of them.” He chokes on another sob, his head in his hands, and Yuri’s eyes go wide as the great Victor Nikiforov crumbles in front of him.

 

He thinks of Otabek, of his grandpa, of the amazing support structure he’s somehow fallen into without really deserving any of it. He supposes it's only fair he passes some of it along.

 

“Come on, get up,” he says suddenly. When Victor simply looks at him he tugs on Victor’s elbow, standing up and dragging Victor with him. “ _ Up _ , old man.”

 

“Where are we going?” Victor asks, allowing himself to be towed by the much smaller boy. 

 

“Back to mine, we're making katsudon pirozhki. They have magical healing properties.” Yuri replies with a determined nod as he frog marches Victor out of the building, using his spare hand to text Otabek and let him know of the change in plans.

 

“Magical healing… But we're not in Japan?” Victor sounds confused. 

 

“So we'll take a photo and send them to Yuuri. You're not going to deprive me of katsudon pirozhki are you Vitya?” He turns on his most obvious puppy dog eyes and grins when Victor can't help his sharp laugh, sounding for the first time like he's not on the cusp of tears. 

 

Yuri takes the lead around his kitchen, giving Victor lots of small tasks in quick succession to keep him occupied. Victor starts welling up when the breaded pork starts sizzling - “It's just like being back at the onsen,” - so Yuri smacks him on the back of the head with his wooden spoon. 

 

“Concentrate, old man,” he snaps, brandishing the spoon menacingly. “You don't want to burn the magic katsudon do you?”

 

“No Yurio,” Victor replies, sounding mollified but thankfully dry eyed. 

 

Yuri figures he can give him a pass on the nickname just this once.

 

Otabek arrives just as they’re taking the pirozhki out of the oven, letting himself in with the spare key Yuri gave him months ago (“Don’t make a big deal of it, it’s just convenient,” he’d argued when Otabek looked like he’d given him the most precious of gifts). Yuri’s distracted with trying not to burn himself or Victor - who’s hovering far too close like an eager child - on the hot baking tray, so he doesn’t really think about what he’s doing as he leans over to press a quick kiss to Otabek’s cheek.

 

“Amazing!” 

 

Yuri jumps in shock and slams the pirozhki down on the counter just before he drops them. Victor is staring at the two of them with literal hearts in his eyes, looking happier than Yuri would have thought possible given the circumstances.

 

“I knew it!” Victor explains excitedly as he fumbles in his pocket. “Mila was certain you two were just sleeping together but I  _ knew _ there was more to it than that!” He holds his phone out, tongue sticking out between his lips as flicks to the camera app. “Do it again.”

 

Yuri hisses and swipes at Victor’s phone, bright red with embarrassment. He’s not sure what’s more mortifying, being caught in such an obvious public display of affection, or finding out that his rink-mates had been discussing his sex life. At length apparently. “You have got to be joking,” he seethes, trying to snatch Victor’s phone out of his hand.

 

Victor holds the phone high above his head and this time it’s Yuri’s turn to be hit with the full force of puppy dog eyes. “Yuuri will be so sad he missed this. A picture of the two of you will cheer him up so much, I just know it Yurio.”

 

“That’s emotional blackmail and you know it,” Yuri grumbles, crossing his arms in front of him petulantly. He still turns his cheek to meet Otabek’s kiss though, trying to ignore the camera shutter noise and Victor’s excited cooing. Victor shows him the photo before sending it, and Yuri has to admit it’s a pretty good photo of the two of them. The sun is setting in the window just behind him. Otabek looks ridiculously handsome, as always, eyes shut as he presses the softest of kisses to Yuri’s cheek. And Yuri? Yuri looks  _ happy _ .

 

“Send it to me as well?” he says casually as he turns back to the tray of pirozhkis.

  
He chooses to ignore the fact that there are now two pairs of heart-eyes directed his way. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Davai, Yura."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Last chapter before the epilogue! I'm posting this chapter a little early since I have friends visiting for a few days and don't want to ruin my posting streak so close to the end...I'm sure you guys won't mind toooo much!
> 
> Edited to add: WELCOME TO THE MADNESS PEOPLE!!! Are you ready? Because I sure as hell am not!

The Grand Prix Final sort of sneaks up on Yuri after that, and before he knows it he’s stepping onto the ice in Vancouver in front of a crowd of thousands.

 

He skates a few loops around the outskirts of the rink, getting acquainted with the ice before sweeping into the center with his hands spread wide for the crowd. He takes up his starting position for his short program as the muttering of the audience slowly dies down. He drinks in the silence; the calm before the storm.

 

“Davai Yuri!” He hears Otabek shout from the sidelines, and he allows himself a moment - just a moment - to grin at the last minute cry of support that has become a ritual for the two of them. Then his mask of determination slips back down, it’s time.

 

His short program goes better than he ever could have hoped for. He doesn’t put a foot wrong the entire two minutes; the roar of the crowd when he sticks the landing of his third quad is almost deafening.

 

He feels like he’s having an out of body experience as he steps off the ice and Yakov has to practically drag him to the kiss and cry. He’s officially the first skater to land three quads in a short program. Talk about making history.

 

He obliterates his personal best - which also happens to be the current world record, but who’s keeping track? - by a full ten points, putting him squarely in the lead at the end of the first day. Even Victor with his hauntingly soulful choreography can’t catch him, slipping into second by eight points.

 

The best part of the day has to be Otabek beating JJ to third place though. Yuri insists that it’s just because he’s pleased his boyfriend is doing so well, but everybody knows that it has more to do with who got bumped into fourth than he’ll care to admit.

 

He and Otabek spend the night curled up in each other’s arms, too tired to do anything more than cuddle. Before heading to bed Yakov takes the time to expressly forbid them from sharing a room during the competition, which of course they both promptly ignore. Otabek at least has the decency to look guilty when Yuri slips into his room ten minutes after curfew - “He’s not even my coach yet and I’m already disobeying him. I bet he thinks I’m corrupting you - don’t laugh! He’s going to _hate_ me Yuri.” - but it doesn’t take more than a token argument from his boyfriend to win him over. Both of them sleep better when they share a bed, Yuri reasons, so really it's the best thing for their skating.

 

Yuri wakes up on the second day of the Grand Prix final ready to take on the world. This competition is his for the taking.

 

He’s skating third today, which is his least favorite spot. It means he has to sit through two skaters before he can get on the ice, and then another _three_ before the results are announced; it’s the worst of both worlds. He fidgets through Christophe’s and JJ’s routines - decent and disgusting respectively. JJ scores slightly higher than Christophe, but not high enough that Yuri is too concerned about being able to catch him.

 

Otabek is skating fifth today, which means he should be getting into his competitive headspace while Yuri is skating. Yuri finds him waiting by the rink’s entrance, though, which he can’t help but find ridiculously endearing. Of course, he’s not about to actually admit that out loud.

 

“Stupid, go back to Roman,” he hisses as he bends down to take off his skate guards, but he can’t help smiling when Otabek squeezes his arm as he steps onto the rink and whispers, “Davai, Yura,” so quiet only Yuri can hear.

 

He lands his quad lutz perfectly, but touches down during his triple salchow, of all things. He curses as the music starts to transition, furious with himself for making such a rookie mistake. His step sequence is shaky as he tries and fails to keep his mind in the present and not on his failed jump, and for a sharp, horrifying moment it feels like everything is going to fall apart.

 

His gaze sweeps across the crowd and lands on Otabek, still standing by the rink’s edge. His face is stoic but he shoots Yuri a pointed thumbs up. He has faith in Yuri, Yuri just needs to have faith in himself.

 

Yuri lets out a long breath, forcing himself to clear his mind. He lets the strength of Otabek’s affection drive the last vestiges of self-hatred from his brain; lets the calm envelop him as he brings his leg up for his Biellmann spin, arching his back as he grasps for his skate. He’s got this. He’s got this.

 

He’s exhausted by the time he strikes his final pose, the skate as draining mentally as it was physically. He clutches his thighs and breathes heavily as the crowd cheers for him. A toy tiger lands at his feet and he picks it up, forcing a smile onto his face as he bows to the judges and waves to the crowd.

 

He scores 198. He tries not to be disappointed as the number flashes up on the screen. Yakov cheers and hugs him, and he squarks in surprise at the unexpected gesture of affection. The ISU computers do the math before Yuri can, and his total score arrives at 326, which leaves Yuri reeling despite already having a rough idea of what it was going to be. It’s well above his previous best combined score, and it places him significantly in front of JJ. It’s going to be a tough score to beat, that’s for sure.

 

The fourth competitor - a newcomer that Yuri hasn’t met yet - is just finishing as Yuri leaves the kiss and cry. He’s done well for a newbie, but he still places after JJ. The poor boy looks wrecked as he steps off the ice, and Yuri tries to give him an encouraging smile as he walks past. He’s not entirely sure he succeeds, if the boy’s terrified expression is anything to go by. Yuri guesses his reputation precedes him; he thinks he kind of likes that.

 

Otabek is stretching by the rink’s entrance when Yuri arrives, and his expression is something strangely close to relief when he notices his boyfriend approaching. Yuri wonders if maybe Otabek didn’t expect him to be there to wish him luck. Stupid boy.

 

“Davai, Otabek. You’ve got this,” he says, giving Otabek the cheesiest double thumbs up he can manage. Otabek gives a nervous laugh as he bends down to take off his skate guards. He hands them to Yuri without a word and steps onto the ice, his expression suddenly deadly serious. The hero of Kazakhstan, ready to do battle.

 

The music starts and Yuri forgets how to breathe. Otabek is...well he’s breathtaking. A vision on skates, Yuri can’t take his eyes off him as he whips around the ice. The crowd is as enraptured as Yuri is, collectively holding their breath as Otabek tells them a story of love, loss and reconciliation through the marks he leaves behind on the ice. He draws his audience in, making them feel special, privileged to be able to witness this masterpiece. Yuri watches as the crowd falls in love with Otabek, just like he always has.

 

Yuri has tears in his eyes by the time Otabek strikes his final pose, has to brush them away hurriedly as Otabek bows and waves and heads for the exit.

 

“Otabek...” Yuri says as he hands over his skate guards, unable to articulate just how amazing his skate had been. Otabek grins at him, eyes ablaze with the pride that comes from a perfect routine, but he’s whisked away to the kiss and cry before he can say anything.

 

Otabek scores 218.

 

Yuri feels his jaw literally drop as the numbers flash up on the screen, the board rearranges itself and Otabek’s name slips in above his. Combined score of 328 to Yuri’s 326.

 

He’s still processing this shocking turn of events when Otabek is finally released from the kiss and cry, still staring up at the board as he approaches.

 

“Yuri?” Otabek says, his voice sounding almost hesitant. Yuri whips his head to look at Otabek, who’s scratching behind his ear in the same way he always does when he’s nervous. Yuri doesn’t understand, the competition is over, why on earth is he still nervous?

 

Silence stretches between them for a beat, and then Yuri throws himself at Otabek, wrapping his arms around his neck. “Congratulations,” he cries, “I’m so proud of you.”

 

He is, he realizes as Otabek exhales loudly and brings his arms up to wrap around Yuri in return. His overwhelming emotion right now is pride for his incredibly talented boyfriend, who’s sitting in first place at the fucking _Grand Prix Final_. The fact that Yuri had to slip into second for it to happen is almost incidental. Right now, with Otabek’s face buried in his shoulder and his arms hugging him like his life depends on it, Yuri’s score is all but forgotten.

 

“I was so worried you’d be mad at me,” Otabek mutters into Yuri’s neck, and Yuri takes a step back, affronted.

 

“You really thought I’d be mad?” he asks.

 

“Is it that unrealistic an assumption?” Otabek replies. Yuri can’t believe how relieved he looks now that he knows Yuri isn’t going to refuse to speak to him ever again, or whatever else he’d conjured up in his brain.

 

Yuri shrugs. “I guess not,” he admits ruefully. In all honesty if this had happened last year Yuri probably would have pitched a fit, regardless of whether they’d been sleeping together at the time or not. Yuri thinks this says a lot about his growth over the last 12 months, and isn’t that an eye-opener for them all?

 

“Seriously, Beka. I’m happy for you,” he says, voice completely sincere. “You were amazing out there, you deserve to win.”

 

Otabek laughs, pink tinging his cheeks at the compliment. “We’ll see, we haven’t seen Victor’s score yet.”

 

Yuri blows a raspberry, linking his arm with Otabek’s as they both turn to the ice just in time to watch Victor spin into his final pose. “Please, Victor wouldn’t be able to hit 328 if his life depended on it. He’s past his prime, man, I’m telling you.”

 

Victor scores 333. Mother. Fucker.

 

He accepts gold with tears in his eyes, kissing his medal and waving to the sidelines where Yuuri and the rest of his family are standing, cheering him on wildly. Even Toshiya has made the journey to Canada, insisting that a little heart attack isn’t enough to stop him from watching his son-in-law skate his last competition. Yuri can’t bring himself to be (that) bitter as Victor bites his bottom lip to stop himself from sobbing on the podium, for once in his life trying to keep his emotions in check. He deserves to win gold for his final skate, Yuri thinks. It’s fitting.

 

He cranes his neck around the center podium so he can watch as Otabek accepts silver, his trademark stoic expression firmly in place as he shakes the presenter’s hand. Yuri grins to himself, silver looks good on his boyfriend. He wonders if Otabek will fuck him wearing only his medal tonight.

 

Then it’s his turn. He twists back to face the presenter and dips his head to accept his bronze medal, feeling pride burn hot and fierce inside him as the weight settles comfortingly around his neck. This time last year he had accepted the exact same medal, but he doesn’t think he could feel more different. Whereas last year all he could think about were his shortcomings, today he revels in his successes. A new personal best combined score, a new short program world record. And no matter what comes next, he’ll always be the first person to land three quads in a short program. Nobody will ever be able to take that away from him.

 

His professional achievements fade to an afterthought, though, as he steps down off the podium to stand with Victor and Otabek for photographs. Victor insists on pushing the two shorter boys to stand in front of him, resting his hands on each of their shoulders like the overprotective uncle he seems all too happy to take the role of. Yuri huffs but shimmies closer to Otabek, and feels happiness bubble inside him as Otabek slips his arm around Yuri’s waist, drawing him even closer in. He knows for a fact that he blushes bright red when Otabek kisses him on the cheek, timing it perfectly with the flash of the camera, knows it will be the talk of the internet by this evening, but he doesn’t mind. He wants to scream from the rooftops that yes, this amazing silver medalist is all his, and no you can’t have him.

 

The photographer asks them to hold up their medals, and Yuri lifts his bronze up to head height. The metal is cool underneath his fingertips, the weight reassuringly heavy. Yuri can’t help thinking that today, at least, bronze feels an awful lot like gold.


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All hail the end of the skating season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it, the final chapter! I wanted to take this opportunity to say a huge huge thank you to everybody who has read, kudos-ed, and especially commented on this story as I've been posting - the notifications from Ao3 have honestly been the best part of my day these past five weeks. I'm totally awestruck by the amazing feedback this fic has gotten, you guys are seriously the best readers a girl could ask for!
> 
> You may have also noticed that this fic is now part of a series! I definitely have more stories I want to tell with these two - currently far I have two one shots written, a multi-chapter fic mostly written, and another multi-chapter fic in the planning stages so...watch this space I guess!

They crash through the door to Otabek’s bedroom, a mess of limbs as they try to undress without breaking away from one another. Yuri is panting heavily against Otabek’s lips, his skin feeling hot, itchy underneath his clothes. His desire for Otabek careened well past _want_ a good fifteen minutes ago and is now firmly in _need_ territory _._

 

Otabek’s fingers tug at the hem of Yuri’s t-shirt and he helps draw it over his head, lips breaking contact for just a second as the fabric cuts between them. The t-shirt is thrown hastily into a corner and they dive back together, equally unwilling to be separated.

 

Yuri feels Otabek’s hand slide down to his ass, and he yelps as Otabek suddenly lifts him. He wraps his legs firmly around Otabek’s waist to stabilize himself, arms snaking around Otabek’s neck so he can deepen the kiss.

 

Otabek groans and turns so that he can pin Yuri up against the nearest wall, fingers digging possessively into the soft flesh of Yuri’s ass as he presses in, his tongue diving deeper into Yuri’s willing mouth, claiming every inch of him.

 

Yuri whimpers and thrusts his hips, grinding up into Otabek’s crotch as he lets the other boy plunder his mouth. “Beka, beka please,” he moans as they break for air, both gasping as their lungs protest their rough treatment.

 

They’ve only just started and he already sounds completely wrecked, his voice barely more than a shuddery exhale. He sounds desperate, wanton. He doesn’t care in the slightest.

 

Otabek’s answering grin is dark and full of promise as he dips his head to press a trail of hot kisses to Yuri’s neck. Yuri positively whines as tilts his head, baring the long expanse of flesh to him.

 

“I can’t believe I finally get to do this,” Otabek mumbles against Yuri’s flushed skin.

 

_You and me both_ , Yuri thinks to himself, then stops thinking altogether as Otabek bites down, sucking and nipping at Yuri’s neck and sending blood rushing to just underneath the surface.

 

All hail the end of the skating season.

 

The rest of the 2018 season passed in something of a blur after the GPF. Yuri took gold at the European Championships, with Otabek cheering him on from the sidelines as usual, and then they switched places for Four Continents. The internet has started calling them the newest figure skating power couple, and Yuri is not at all subtle in his glee at having stolen the title from Victor and Katsudon - especially since Yuuri returned from Japan just in time to steal gold out from underneath him at Worlds by a measly _two_ points.

 

Yakov had grumbled and told him not to let it get to his head, but he also told him to enjoy his time off before coming back to practice. Yuri fully intends to do just that.

 

Otabek draws away for breath, then dives straight back in again, this time latching on to a spot a couple of inches lower. Yuri gasps and arches into Otabek’s touch, lost to the intensity of feeling as Otabek steadily works his way down his neck. Marking him. _Claiming_ him.

 

He reaches Yuri’s collarbone and nips roughly at the delicate skin there. Yuri can’t help crying out at the sharp sting, his legs tightening around Otabek’s waist reflexively. Otabek lets out a soft _oof_ as the air is punched out of him, and his fingers flex against Yuri’s ass.

 

“Shit, fuck, sorry,” Yuri gasps, making a point of relaxing his death grip around Otabek’s waist. Otabek responds by lifting Yuri away from the wall and depositing him on the bed. Yuri barely has time to rearrange his limbs before Otabek is prowling over to him, his body slinking up and over Yuri’s until their faces are level. He place his hands on either side of Yuri’s head as he crowds into his space.

 

“Mine,” he says, voice predatory as he dives down to start attacking the other side of Yuri’s neck.

 

Yuri whimpers and writhes underneath Otabek’s ministrations, drowning in the hot sparks of pleasure-pain that Otabek draws from his skin. He sinks further down the rabbit hole with every scrape, every suck, every soothing lap of tongue, until he’s no longer a person but a bundle of emotion held together by increasingly abused flesh.

 

After what feels like an eternity Otabek draws away, cocking his head as he surveys his handiwork. Yuri can feel his heart hammering against his ribs, his breath coming out of him in short, uneven gasps.

 

“You look like you’ve been strangled,” Otabek says, voice as neutral as if he were commenting on the weather. The heavy rise and fall of his chest is the only thing giving him away.

 

Yuri brings a shaking hand up to press gingerly at his neck, feeling the tender skin that he knows has turned an angry purple under Otabek’s attentions. He always did bruise easily. There’s not an inch of his neck that Otabek hasn’t laid claim to.

 

The idea of Otabek leaving a veritable collar of marks on him sends heat curling through Yuri’s belly. He can’t wait to see the looks on Victor and Yuuri’s faces when they meet for lunch tomorrow. He supposes he could probably hide them if he wanted to. He doesn’t want to. He wants to wear the most revealing top he can find so that the whole world knows he’s been claimed by Otabek Altin.

 

“More,” he says, voice hoarse as he drags Otabek down into a passionate kiss, tongue delving deep into his mouth and drawing out a sharp gasp in response. He luxuriates in the kiss for long moments, then pushes Otabek away firmly, pressing down on his shoulders to guide him towards his torso. He needs _more._

 

Otabek goes to town on his chest. Yuri didn’t think it was possible for him to do a more thorough job than on his neck, but he’s quickly proven wrong as Otabek proceeds to turn his entire upper half purple. Yuri has one hand tangled in Otabek’s hair, the other fisting through his own as he writhes, body torn between arching away from the sharp contact and bucking up into it.

 

By the time Otabek moves back up to kiss Yuri again he’s almost delirious with want. Otabek has obliterated every ounce of self-restraint he’s ever had, sucked it out of him with those sinful lips and vicious teeth. He scrabbles at Otabek’s jeans, hands shaking too much to undo the buttons. He whines desperately and starts shoving at the waistband, hoping Otabek will get the picture and help him out.

 

“Need you...in me... _now_ , Beka,” he pleads, his entire body starting to vibrate as his desire threatens to overwhelm him.

 

Otabek kisses Yuri again, this time soft and sweet. “Shhh, Yura, shhh. I’ve got you.”

 

He slides down Yuri’s body and starts to unbutton his jeans, tugging them down his legs together with his boxers. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he continues to croon as Yuri shudders at the rush of cool air against his overheated skin, pressing soft kisses to the flesh he exposes as he moves.

 

He tugs Yuri’s clothes off his feet, then starts to kiss back up his legs again, pausing only when he reaches Yuri’s cock lying hot and heavy against his belly. Yuri watches transfixed as Otabek hovers just above its leaking tip, licking his lips in anticipation.

 

“I always take care of what’s mine,” he says, before taking Yuri all the way down in one swift movement.

 

Yuri cries out, his hips bucking uncontrollably and forcing his dick even further down Otabek’s throat. Otabek draws off with a splutter and raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Behave Yura, or I’ll have to tie you down.”

 

As threats go, it’s not the most effective deterrent. Yuri can practically feel the rough scrape of rope around his wrists as Otabek sinks down again, the mental imagery almost enough to tip him over the edge right there and then. He tries not to thrust, he really does, but his dick is firmly in control at this point, and he can’t help the small, aborted jerks that shudder through his lower half.

 

Otabek huffs a sigh around Yuri’s cock, which really only makes things worse, and pins Yuri’s hips firmly to the bed, so tight he can’t move an inch. Yuri throws his head back in pleasure as he’s forced take everything that Otabek gives him, coaxing him closer and closer to the edge with his dexterous tongue.

 

At some point one hand leaves Yuri’s hips and returns glistening with lube. Otabek sneaks underneath Yuri’s ass and slowly presses a finger into him, swallowing his cock all the way down at the exact same moment.

 

Yuri practically shrieks as the combined sensation, and he rocks down onto Otabek’s hand, desperately searching out more. Otabek is all too happy to comply, and swiftly adds a second finger, then a third. He works Yuri over thoroughly, methodically, his attention perfectly split between Yuri’s cock and his ass, and all the while Yuri howls and begs and crushes the sheets underneath him in his clenched fists. Just when Yuri thinks he’s getting used to the movements Otabek crooks his fingers to scrape over Yuri’s prostate, and he’s gone all over again.

 

He’s barely holding it together enough to register when Otabek crawls back up his body, kissing him sweet and deep and _fuck_ , Yuri can taste himself on his lips. He wraps his arms around Otabek’s neck and buries his face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder, his entire body heaving with barely contained tension.

 

When Otabek slides into him he sees stars. Bright flashes of color explode behind his lids and then he’s floating.

 

He doesn’t register coming, barely registers Otabek shuddering and stilling on top of him as he pumps his release into the condom inside of him. He comes back down just in time to register the hot spark of agonizingly perfect pain as Otabek sucks one last hickey into the abused flesh of his neck, and then he’s gone again, lost to wave after wave of unending pleasure.

 

He surfaces with his head pillowed on Otabek’s chest; skin damp with sweat and sticky with his own release. Otabek’s arm is wrapped around his shoulders, his fingers carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. His voice is low and soothing, muttering a steady stream of endearments. It’s nice, Yuri thinks. Soothing. He grins and stretches, flexing his spine and pointing his toes.

 

“Hello there,” Otabek says, handing Yuri a glass of water. Yuri takes it in both hands and downs the contents in one gulp, not realizing how thirsty he is until he takes the first sip. He hands the glass back to Otabek and buries himself even further into Otabek’s chest. He feels the rumble underneath him as Otabek laughs softly. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Good. Sore. In a good way. I’m good sore,” Yuri says, not thinking too hard about what he’s saying. He feels Otabek laugh again and then press a soft kiss to his forehead.

  
“You’re adorable,” Otabek says, voice so fond Yuri can’t help the blush that spreads over his cheeks. He turns and nips at the biceps he’s currently using as a pillow.

 

Otabek hisses and swats at Yuri’s ass in response. “Behave,” he warns.

 

Yuri twists to look up at him, expression far too innocent to be believable. “Where’s the fun in that?”

 

* * *

 

“So, we have eight whole weeks until training starts again. How do you want to spend them?” Otabek says some time later, once they’ve both showered and are getting dressed.

 

Well, Otabek is getting dressed. Yuri got distracted by the sight of himself in the mirror and is standing in his boxers turning this way and that, thoroughly enjoying the sight of his skin literally _covered_ in Otabek’s marks.

 

“Hmmm?” Yuri replies, not really listening. There’s a veritable kaleidoscope of colors patterned across his flesh; it’s hypnotizing. He presses a finger to one of the darkest patches, a huge mark just underneath his ribcage, and hisses in pleasure at the dull throb it emits.

 

“I said, what do you want to do with our time off?” Otabek says again, coming up behind Yuri and wrapping his arms around the other boy’s waist. He rests his chin on Yuri’s shoulder and Yuri twists to press a quick kiss to the tip of Otabek’s nose.

 

“Well, more of this for one thing,” he says, gesturing to the landscape of marks littering his skin. “I need to get my fix before we have to go back to being careful.”

 

Otabek laughs and dips his head to press a soft kiss to one of the angry purple marks on Yuris neck, his touch soft and soothing and nothing at all like his actions earlier. “Duly noted,” he says. “Is there anything else on our list you'd particularly like to try now that we have the time?”

 

“Actually, there was one thing I wanted to talk to you about,” Yuri says, wiggling out of Otabek’s grip and moving to sit cross-legged on the bed.

 

Otabek turns to face Yuri and raises an eyebrow curiously.

 

“You know when we were writing our contract, and you vetoed permanent marks…” Yuri begins, trailing off as Otabek’s expression immediately shutters.

 

“ _Yurrriii_.” Otabek’s voice is practically pleading as he crosses over to sit on the bed next to him, his hands coming out to take both of Yuri’s in his. “I thought we were past this.”

 

Yuri huffs, but lets his hands stay enclosed in Otabek’s. He’s a little bit hurt by Otabek’s immediate assumption that his request means he’s falling back into his old self-destructive habits, but he supposes it’s not that unreasonable a concern. His relationship with his body is a thousand times better than it had been this time last year, but even now he still has days where Otabek has to keep an especially close eye on him to make sure he's not pushing himself past his limits, both on the ice and in the bedroom.

 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he mutters, “but that’s not actually what I meant.” He slowly draws his hands out from underneath Otabek’s, stroking the other boy’s cheek so he knows he’s not mad at him as he gets up to rummage in his backpack. He finds the piece of paper he’s looking for and brings it back to the bed, handing it over to Otabek before sitting back down. “I want to get a tattoo. This tattoo.”

 

He watches as Otabek’s brow furrows in confusion before turning his attention to the piece of paper in his hands. He slowly unfolds it, revealing the intricate line art of a bronze tiger and silver bear.

 

“I’m 18 now, so I can get one without needing Grandpa’s consent. It’s my design, but Mila helped get it on paper,” he says, aware that he’s rambling, but unable to stop himself. He’s been mulling over the idea for ages, but it seemed important to him to get the design finalized before showing it to Otabek.

 

Otabek’s fingers trace lightly over the design, and Yuri holds his breath in anticipation. He hadn’t realized how important it was for Otabek to approve of his idea until this very moment.

 

“It’s stunning,” Otabek says, voice hushed and reverent. He looks back up at Yuri with an almost pained expression. “But a tattoo, that’s kind of big deal. What if we... I mean…”

 

“Break up?” Yuri interrupts, trying not to let his voice crack at the implication. “I’m not completely naive, Beka. I know we’re both young, and things don’t always last forever.” He has to pause for a moment, the very idea of them not being together any more almost too much to bear. “But that day at the Grand Prix Final? That was one of the best days of my life. I’m never going to think about that day with anything other good memories. Even if we … even if we end up not being together.” He pauses again, wondering if he has the words to explain just how important that day is to him - the first day that not winning didn’t feel like losing. He decides he probably doesn’t, but he likes to think that Otabek understands anyway. “I want something to remind me of it, and I want you to be there when I get it.”

 

Otabek stares at Yuri for a long time, gaze appraising. Finally he leans forward, one hand cupping Yuri’s jaw as he presses a soft kiss to his cheek. “In that case, I would be honored.”

 

* * *

 

“First time getting a tattoo?” The tattoo artist asks as he surveys Yuri’s design. Yuri nods, words suddenly escaping him. “It’ll probably take about four hours to complete, you might want to consider going for multiple sessions since you’re a first timer.”

 

Yuri shakes his head adamantly. “Hell no, I can do it in one.” The tattoo artist laughs and raises an eyebrow at Otabek, who’s standing just behind where Yuri’s sitting for the consultation.

 

Otabek shrugs. “He’s very determined.”

 

The tattoo artist nods, and places the design on his desk next to the stencil paper. “Alright, well if you think you can handle it…”

 

“I can,” Yuri interrupts, already pulling off his jacket.

 

“Easy, tiger,” the tattoo artist says, laughing again. He gestures towards Yuri’s design “I guess it’s obvious which one of these two you are then.” His eyes flick up to Otabek. “I didn’t take you for a bear though.”

 

Yuri doesn’t think he’s ever seen Otabek flush so red. It’s completely adorable.

 

“It’s his lucky animal,” he explains. The tattoo artist raises an eyebrow as if to say _sure it is_ , but doesn’t comment further. Yuri guesses it’s for the best since Otabek looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. He makes a mental note to tease him for that later.

 

The tattoo artist takes his time stenciling the design onto Yuri’s flesh, the image wrapping around his side just over the bottom of his ribcage. “Ribs are one of the most painful areas to get tattooed,” he says as he works. “You’re not making it easy for your first time are ya?”

 

“I can handle it,” Yuri says again, eyes searching out Otabek who’s sitting on a stool next to his head. Otabek simply nods, and reaches up to squeeze Yuri’s shoulder in confirmation.

 

“Alright,” the tattoo artist says, snapping on black latex gloves and picking up his gun. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

 

It hurts. _Fuck_ it hurts. Yuri had been prepared for pain, had been all set to embrace it, but fuck _,_ he hadn’t expected pain like this.

 

He bites his lip and clenches Otabek’s hand like his life depends on it, his whole body tense as the gun bites into his flesh over and over again. He lets out a whimper as it hits a particularly sensitive spot right on top of one of his ribs, and squeezes his eyes tightly shut as he tries to breathe through it.

 

He feels Otabek’s fingers start to stroke through his hair. “You’re doing so well,” he says, voice a soothing balm against the fire coursing up his side. Yuri opens his eyes and blinks up at Otabek.

 

“It hurts,” he admits, letting out another gasp as the gun traces over another rib.

 

“I know it does, but you can do this, soldier.” Otabek’s voice is so calm, so soothing, it’s almost like Yuri isn’t clenching his fingers in a death grip to end all death grips. “You’re doing so well for me, my Yura.”

 

Yuri keeps his eyes locked on Otabek’s face, his attention focused on the words coming out of his boyfriend’s mouth rather than the stabbing pain in his side. It feels like an age but suddenly the buzzing stops, the pain recedes, and Yuri feels like he can breathe again.

 

“All done,” the tattoo artist confirms, pressing something cool to Yuri’s red-hot side. Yuri hisses and flinches, but his eyes don’t leave Otabek.

 

“It’s okay, you can look,” Otabek says with a grin, and Yuri finally feels like he has permission to twist his head and look at his new tattoo.

 

It’s beautiful, better than anything he could have imagined. Otabek helps him stand up and guides him to the full length mirror so he can get a better look, and Yuri stands transfixed at the incredible artwork that’s now a part of him.

 

“It’s breathtaking. _You’re_ breathtaking, Yura,” Otabek says, voice low in Yuri’s ear as he presses up behind him. Yuri shudders at the praise, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. He lets his head drop back against Otabek’s chest.

 

“Yours,” he says.

 

“Mine,” Otabek practically growls.

 

One of the studio’s assistants takes Yuri away to get his new tattoo cleaned and bandaged, and then they run through the guidelines for how to look after it while it’s healing. It’s only when he’s led back into the waiting area that he realizes that Otabek is no longer with him.

 

The assistant, noticing his confusion, gestures to the closed door of the room where Yuri had been sitting not half an hour ago. “Your boyfriend said you should wait here. He won’t be long.”

 

Yuri frowns, confused, but sits down to wait nonetheless. Twenty minutes later the door opens and the same tattoo artist that had worked on Yuri pops his head out. “Come in, tiger.”

 

Yuri steps into the room, “Otabek, what’s going on?” he asks, even though the answer is pretty obvious given their surroundings.

 

Otabek is in front of the mirror, his jeans low on his hips to expose his iliac crest. Yuri can see something small and detailed just by his right hip. He walks over, curious. As he gets closer the design reveals itself to him. Two tiny pawprints, in the same configuration as his tiger and bear. One bronze, one silver.

 

Otabek twists when he hears him approaching, and his expression is strangely nervous. “What do you think?” he asks.

 

Yuri takes another step forward, so they’re almost chest to chest. His fingers twitch impotently by his side, desperate to stroke over the skin that Otabek has marked in the same way as him. He opens his mouth to speak but the words lodge in his throat.

 

“I’m not...I’m not as brave as you,” Otabek says, sounding desperate to fill the silence that Yuri has left. “But I wanted to show you that if you’re mine, then...well...I’m just as much yours.” He pauses again, weight shifting from foot to foot as Yuri can only stare at Otabek’s hip. “Do you like it?”

 

The growl that rips from Yuri’s throat is almost feral as he surges up to kiss Otabek, harsh and deep and claiming. His arms wrap around Otabek’s neck and he crowds in, careful to avoid putting any pressure on the side where his tattoo is. It’s the same side Otabek’s gotten his work done, he realizes, and he breaks the kiss to twist to look at the sight they make in the mirror, tattoos practically touching.

 

“I love it.” He says fiercely, twisting to kiss Otabek again. “Almost as much as I love you.” One more kiss, this time hard and fast and gone practically as soon as it’s started. “Now, take me home and show me how much you love me, Otabek Altin.”

 

Otabek grins that devious grin of his. Yuri is sure he’s the only person in the world who gets to see it this side of him, and he loves it.

 

“With pleasure, my Yura.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always loved and appreciated. I'm also on [Tumblr](http://sparrow30.tumblr.com/), come say hi!


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